Malignant Objects
by Charlie -dashdot- Blue
Summary: Left in an orphanage, Harry Potter, twin to the alleged BoyWhoLived, was taken into an underground world of debauchery, hedonism and beauty. Meanwhile, the Dark Lord has risen, and the wizarding world lives in darkness, politics & powergames. HP/LV
1. ∞˙The Fallacy, Part 1˙∞

**Title**: _Malignant Objects_

**Chapter:** _Prologue - The Fallacy, Part 1_

**Author**: _Charlie Blue_

**Notes: **

_Malignant: _

_1.Full of hate and showing a desire to harm others_

_2.Likely to cause harm_

_Objects:_

_1.A focus of somebody's attention or emotion_

_2.An aim or purpose_

_3. to be opposed to something, or express opposition to it_

_Fallacy_

_1.Something that is believed to be truth but is erroneous_

_2.An argument or reasoning in which the conclusion does not follow from the premises_

_3.The condition of being misleading or deceptive_

_**Info: **_

_The first couple of chapters jump around and there are several changes of scene and point of view. Don't worry, these are just the introduction – the story will settle down. Thanks._

**Timeline**: I know it deviates from canon, but that's how I'm doing it.

**The Boy-Who-Lived is born – 1988**

**Finishes his first year at Hogwarts – Halfway through 2000**

_**Time: **2005, night._

_**Location: **An unknown estate. _

_Long forgotten returnings._

_It was late at night, far past midnight and long into the hours of the night when all living were at their least alive._

_The beautiful, white castle, a mass of graceful spires and twisting arches, arose from the cliff as if it had sprung up out of the earth itself. Far below it a frozen river lay snaking along the landscape. Snow fell in light flurries, and through the drifting white, the bright lights of a procession of expensive, sleek cars._

_The cars purred through the huge gates one by one, passing beneath the high, arching spire that spanned the entrance._

_Well, dressed, immaculate valets emerged from the high, double doors in two, flawless lines. They opened the car doors with white-gloved hands, and the Death Eaters arose from their plush, luxurious vehicles._

_Bellatrix, her dark curls swinging, lips blood red, glanced about her disdainfully over the soft, ebony fur she clasped close and high about her ivory neck. Her husband's arm slid around her small, belted in waist, and her lips parted in mock-astonishment as she turned in his arms. After a disdainful look, she swung around, grasping his arm as she did so, and sashayed up the wide, sprawling stairs to the entrance. Rodolphus swaggered in her wake, winking at the askance look Lucius threw him as he coolly offered Narcissa a hand._

_One by one, well-dressed men and women emerged from the dark machines, climbing the wide, well-cut marble steps to the doors, which were open, spilling out enticing golden light. _

_Inside, the entrance hall was a grand affair, with an arched roof and fluted columns forming a corridor that was lit by intricately detailed chandeliers. At the far end was a magnificent, sprawling marble staircase that widened out as it reached the ground, spanning the entire back third of the hall._

_A woman walked down the oversized staircase. Her golden curls fell in spirals and ringlets down to her hips, tumbling over her dusky, bare shoulders. A black bodice twisted tightly around her body, becoming ample, sensuously flowing skirts that were an intricate array of soft, raven-black feathers._

_She wore an incredible, snowy-white, sumptuous fur coat that had fallen off her shoulders and slouched around her elbows, trailing far behind and above her across the stairs._

_She stopped, waiting two-thirds of the way down them, hip resting in casual grace on the ornate banister, a long, dark cigarette dangling from her fingers._

_More and more of the Death Eaters arrived. The woman did not move, obviously waiting until all had arrived. It was not a silent affair. The people moved, floating in and out of conversations like butterflies, whispering and murmuring to those long not seen._

_Narcissa and Bellatrix made eye contact across the room. They both recognised the woman on the stairs, and the fact that she was here, where the Dark Lord was rumoured to be, was not good news. She had been a notorious, but largely unseen player during the first rise of the Dark Lord, but had, rather too coincidently, disappeared shortly before the night Daniel Potter had somehow defeated him._

_Bringing a notoriously conniving group like the Death Eaters together once more created a huge amount of politics, even in the short, few minutes of waiting in the hall. Everywhere, behind the polite, cat's-paw smiles and delicate, snide laughter, the dark witches and wizards of British high society once again were entering the games of status they had played during the Dark Lord's first rise to power._

_Finally, the last guest entered, and the doors shut silently. A moment passed in silence, and the woman's lips, painted a dark crimson, parted, and she blew out a dark stream of smoke. _

"_Ladies and Gentlemen." She pronounced, her voice a purring, dramatic flourish that made the crowd instinctively look up to her. _

_Her dark eyes scanned the Death Eaters gathered in her entrance hall contemptuously._

"_I welcome you to my house." She said, and the glint of white teeth glimmered between her lips in an amused expression that just might, at a stretch, be called a smile._

"_The Dark Lord will join you shortly."_

_It was a momentous statement. For the past five years, rumours had sprung up in certain circles that their Lord was indeed revived. For the ten years before that, it had been almost completely and utterly certain he would never return. _

_Now, finally, he had summoned his Death Eaters once more._

_------------------_

**Location: **_London Slums _

_Run before madness. There is no other defence._

The room was cheap, junky; the lighting was dull and yellowish and the apartment was littered with trash and the stench of marijuana. John Diamond, a middle-aged man of general all-round unpleasantness, sat sprawled on a cheap couch in front of the television, which was squawking out football scores with gusto.

There was a soft boot step in the entrance hallway, and the man turned, revealing an unshaven, corpulent face.

"Who the _fuck _are you?" The man spat out as he caught sight of a young, _beautifully _handsome man standing casually in front of his closed and locked front door.

The boy smiled, and the man felt a chill down his spine as he realized that that cold grin was directed at him, and _only _him.

"_You_ can call me Tobias." Voice cold, emotionless. "Lady sent me."

_Motherfuckingshitheadfuckfuck. _

The man stumbled to his feet, "Tobias who, kid?" His voice rang with false bravado. He knew exactly who the boy was.

The young man was dressed in a dark designer suit, and in peak physical condition. He had that air of _incredible _sexual confidence about him that gave the man no doubt as to _which _Tobias exactly he was.

He belonged to the Lady, that mysterious, terrifying figure who ruled the underworld.

The man backed slowly into his living room, his old shotgun was there, if he could just –

Tobias's smile merely widened as the man realized, too late - even in the sparse seconds the exchange had taken - _far_ too late, just exactly who he was.

"Lady isn't very happy with you, Johnny boy." Tobias taunted, walking forwards slowly, his unusual eyes cruel, sadistic.

_Tobias, fucking Tobias. _John had heard of him, even so young, the boy was infamous in the dark criminal underworlds for his numerous … _talents._ But what John hadn't realized until now, looking Tobias straight in the face, was that it was entirely possible the young man was mad.

John licked his lips, and he realized that his hands were shaking, that his forehead was breaking out into a cold sweat, and his eyes darting, looking everywhere, _anywhere_ but at the handsome, that _too_ handsome young boy. His vision blurred and his heart's pounding drowned out his hearing.

_I shouldn't be this scared. _He thought, even as he turned tail and ran, heart pounding madly, room spinning,_ something's very, very wrong. _

Something was, but John Diamond never lived to find out.

**Blam.**

Tobias stared down the smoking barrel of the gun as the man staggered, and fell. He walked forwards, slowly, smoothly, and stood over the dying man.

**Blam. Blam.**

Two straight shots to the head, and the dark pool of blood expanded with ominous speed.

Tobias turned and walked out of the seedy London apartment.

------------------

Tobias strode down the darkening street, a darkly coated figure, just one among the many anonymous people of the city. He let out a breath shakily and shoved his hands into his pockets, his stride lengthening as a fine drizzle of rain misted down onto his face from his hair. He ran lightly down the stairs leading into a London tube station, the grimy walls and cheap, electrical lighting suiting his mood.

Tobias attracted a few looks from those waiting for a train, and black amusement rose in him; he was devastatingly gorgeous – he knew that without any pretensions, though that exact wording was not his, it was a description given by an old friend of his.

He _was_ vain, and didn't really care that he was, but he was not so vain as to over-look the fact that if he hadn't been _so_ attractive, he would have been left to die on the streets long ago. The thought provided him with a certain amount of bitter satisfaction.

He closed his eyes for a moment, welcoming the darkness, spotted as it was, with the glares of the strips of overhead lighting. He wasn't supposed to have done it, wasn't supposed to have killed the man. He wasn't one of the Lady's killers, or even one of the fighters, but he had called in a couple of favours, just to see the blind animalistic fear in that fat pig's face.

It was personal, and he knew that Lady would be angry with him, rather than just pissed off, simply because of that fact; _no one _with personal ties to an assignment was ever given it, but right now, he didn't give a fuck.

In fact, he felt numb. He had killed before; your normal, run-of-the-mill morals didn't last long in the mad world in which he had been reared, but this … this was different. Perhaps it was because of the _reason _the man had been killed.

His thoughts cleared, become crystal-cold clear, as the connection occurred. It was because he had just killed the bastard who'd raped his best mate and caused the deterioration of the breathtaking boy to such an extent that Tobias could find no vestige of the man his friend had had once been.

He lit up a cigarette.

-----------------

**Location: **_Deep under the ground of the slums of London._

_Beauty of a dangerous kind._

Lucius Malfoy was not a man who lost his poise or exterior of detachment easily. A talent he was exceedingly grateful for as he followed the sleek, suited, buxom woman through a world breathtakingly disturbing in its hedonistic debauchery.

He had entered an entirely different world. Sunken below the city itself, it was huge, large enough, by all accounts, to be considered a city.

He was on a platform that hung from struts and encircled the absurdly extensive dance floor far below. The complete abandonment of the crowd of any kind of human moderation or proprietary was incredible. Had he not seen this place, Lucius would have thought the existence of such a place physically and humanly impossible.

The place _pulsed_ with bodies - female, male and all those in between. Cages hung above the crowd, men and woman alike dancing inside them, raised platforms of strippers and bars; an entire fantasyland of carnival circus performances, sexual teases, animalistic impulses and flashing lights.

The entire clubbing scene reached high up on several different levels, courtesy of smaller, raised dance floors, platforms that hung from the ceiling by chains, trapezes, sets of stairs that lead to nowhere, even a Ferris wheel that fit comfortably into the mind-boggling large ware-house-like room.

If he were to describe it in better words, he would not hesitate to call it something that was as close as mortals could get to creating the Devil's Playground.

The woman turned and paused as she saw him stop. She smiled slightly, seeing his incredulity, dimples appearing in her dark, mocha skin.

"The entire underground is a revolutionary concept of magic." She explained, her voice cultured and like to that of a first-class airhostess. Sexy, but impersonal.

"Oh really?" Lucius drawled, unimpressed. "How so?"

"Mr Malfoy. Wizards expand space all the time. Whether it be cars, houses, bags, anything. This particular type of magic, whilst fascinating in its simplicity, is not what I am talking about." Her lips curled.

"As with most common 'light' spells and magics - " Lucius could almost see the punctuation marks around the word as it rolled off her tongue, "It is based on non-logical thinking. You know this."

_He_ did, though many failed to realize the concept existed at all.

Most wizards had completely different thought patterns to muggles. Because they were reared on magic, something that apparently defied all logic and laws of the universe, their thoughts were often quite surrealistic in comparison to a muggle's.

They had to be; otherwise their own minds would cripple their ability to manipulate magic.

Following this, the spells were based off a particular kind of though pattern that was so illogical, it was logical. The expansion spell was a very good example of this.

Simplistic, yes, that was a way to describe it. The theory was that if the _inside _of something was expanded, but the _outside _was not, why should the outside become enlarged at all? – They were two completely different things, even though they belonged to the same object. Thereby creating a spell that made the inside of something larger without making it bigger on the outside at all.

"But this –" She waved an elegant arm expansively, "is something completely different." She smiled, revealing perfect white teeth.

"It is something that its creator likes to call 'Quantum-Related Space-Expansion of the Seventh Dimension with Microengimagic Factors of Relation to Impossibility Probability Spheres to Root of One Ninety-Seventh Degree.' "

A pause.

"I see." Ventured Lucius.

She treated him to another dimple,

"Of course you don't - nobody does." She paused, and turned, spreading an elegant arm out towards the corridor in front of them. "Shall we?"

He indicated that she should walk in front, transferring his heavy leather briefcase to the other hand.

---------------------

The office he was lead to was large, and tastefully appointed, the man occupying it no less tailored to give off the impression of sophistication and luxury. His face was that of a once-handsome, gracefully aged gentleman, in his fifties, perhaps.

He grinned, revealing pearly white teeth, and stood from his leather chair.

"Mr Malfoy, I presume?" He questioned, his voice disarming and welcoming, his grey eyes crinkled at the edges from his smile.

The dark-haired woman smiled and led Lucius into the room.

"Yes, Thomas, this is Lucius Malfoy, Mr Malfoy, this is Thomas Grey."

"Please, call me Thomas." Interjected the man, indicating that Lucius should take a seat with a gracious gesture, lowering himself into his own.

Lucius seated himself in the left-most of the chairs provided opposite Thomas's smooth, dark mahogany desk, faintly unnerved, for some reason, by the charming man he was confronted with.

"Drink, Thomas, Mr Malfoy?" Asked the woman, her voice unfailingly polite.

"Thank you Katherine," Thomas replied, "Scotch." He looked to Lucius, and raised his fine, silvering brows.

"French Brandy, if you have it, … Katherine." Lucius replied, amused by the smoothness of the whole operation. That walk through the most vivid, and visually assaulting place had been designed purely to throw him off balance.

The drinks poured and served, Katherine left the room, the door closing with a soft _snick_.

Thomas leant forwards and fixed Lucius with a shrewd look.

"So, the Dark Lord sends an aristocrat to charm the criminals?"

The hairs on the back of Lucius's neck prickled. A cunning man, with perhaps a little too much pride and no small intelligence. He would enjoy these … negotiations.

"Not at all." He replied smoothly, "The Dark Lord sends a representative to begin relations with a hitherto unknown factor. Nothing less."

"Something more?" Once more, the brows rose.

"That depends, Mr Grey, entirely on you."

The man chuckled, leaning back, his eyelids lowering slightly.

"No, Mr Malfoy, I am afraid you are mistaken."

"Oh?"

"Yes." He smiled, dangerously, and did not elaborate.

"And I told you to call me Thomas."

--------------

**Location: **_Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Absurdity is the rationality of the brilliant._

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, scanned the hastily penned note over the top of his half-moon glasses, his blue eyes pensive.

Absently, he tapped a delicate china cup sitting in front of him, in the midst of a mountain of paperwork, and steam immediately began billowing out of the newly warm bergamot tea.

So the magical scan had found nothing. He wasn't sure whether he should be shocked or resigned. He'd almost been expecting this; from the moment he'd seen the looks on Lily and James's faces when he'd proposed it, right through to the owl battering at his window.

Sighing, he let go of the note, watching it waft gently down to settle perilously on the unstable pile of official papers, making it wobble dangerously.

The analogy touched on Albus's sense of the ridiculous – the system brought down by an errant scrap.

He slit open a sealed envelope, read it, and left it sitting on the desk, rising and walking around to stand by the window. Another complaint from the parents of a first year muggleborn.

This was not the kind of school Albus had envisioned when he had taken up the weighty mantle of Headmaster. Grindelwald had just been defeated and he'd thought – foolishly, still flushed from his defeat of The Dark Wizard – the title that Grindelwald had been known as – that he could unite the school, right old prejudices.

Instead, a new Dark Lord had risen, and he had been unable to stop it. Instead, the Lord Voldemort had been defeated, if not vanquished, by the one-year-old Potter boy. Then had risen again, ten years later, breaching Dumbledore's own defences and gaining his old body back from the mythical powers of the Philosopher's Stone.

And so politics had come to rule the hallways of Hogwarts. Almost every student knew that within Hogwarts was the one time in their life they would be mingling with possible future deadly enemies, rivals and victims without being able to harm heavily or be harmed.

So, instead, games were played, games of power and of alliances, of neutrality and favour. Of bloodlines and wealth. Many of the first-year muggleborns, who had not known what to expect, never returned to Hogwarts after their first year.

Those that did, faded into obscurity, or became especially learned in the arts of magic, simply in order to survive – for they would become dependant on a pureblood, who seeing the potential advantage having one so learned at their disposal after Hogwarts has ended, would take it upon themselves to take the muggleborn under their wing and protection.

For once the students left the halls of Hogwarts, those bonds, or lack thereof that had been formed, became reality.

He wrenched his mind from his thoughts, which returned to the scrap of paper he'd just received.

The search had failed, once again.

More than anything, Lily and James were growing ever more desperate to find the son they had left in the orphanage. The first few years had been fine, the memory of the incident that had forced them to abandon little Harry Potter still fresh in their minds – as well as the added distraction of the young Boy-Who-Lived himself, Danny Potter, and all the publicity and stress that went with being his family.

The boy was just about to enter his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. He had grown wonderfully; handsome, confident, with no small power and talent as a wizard, he was, probably, the most popular boy in the school. If he was a little _too _arrogant, that was nothing a teenage boy could not grow out of.

What Daniel needed was competition, something that would spur him onwards, but a twin would have another, very important quality. Because of the closeness of their blood, there were several rare, but eminently powerful rituals that could only be performed between twins – even brothers were not considered close enough for these kinds of rituals. But they were rituals that would allow Daniel to … _appropriate_ his twin's undoubtedly raw and untrained power for a time.

Albus was confident that Daniel, as the boy from the prophecy, had been born with a twin for this very reason, and the fact that the boy would be untrained would have the added advantage of making such rituals much, _much_ less … problematic.

So while he would find the boy for Lily and James, and also out of a sense that they boy deserved to know his heritage and family, in these troubled times, the main reason Dumbledore would find Harry Potter would be for his ability, willing or unwilling, to impart his power onto his twin.

----------------

**Location: **_Underground, Outside Thomas's Study_

_Deals and meetings._

The fine lines betraying Lucius's tension eased as the heavily polished door to Thomas's study swung shut behind him.

Success, of a sort.

Katharine appeared at the far corner of the underground corridor, stilettos silent on the carpeted floor. She strode forwards, dark eyes steady, eyebrows slightly raised.

"Finished?"

"Quite." Lucius replied, moving forwards to meet her. She smiled, lips curving as if pleased, and stopped as he reached her.

"Then it is time for you to leave, Mr Malfoy."

He inclined his head slightly and followed as she turned and walked back the way she'd come.

They walked in silence for ten minutes or more before Lucius realized that they were not taking the same path as when he had arrived. Indeed, the corridors of the underground were so confusing in their similarity, he came to the conclusion that they had been built labyrinth like as a defence against … _unwanted_ persons in the halls of the Lady.

His eyes narrowed and he'd opened his mouth to demand an explanation of the damnably ingenuous Katharine, when the corridor took a new turn and widened into a large, long room that finished at it's opposite end in a currently opened door and continued on as a corridor.

The room itself was lavishly furnished with frescoed wooden wall panels, thick carpets and decorated with sumptuous couches and Oriental silk throws and cushions haphazardly scattered. Several doors led into it from either side, some of which stood open, others barred.

About three-quarters of the way down the room a group of maybe six or seven young men and women lay, sprawled across the luxuries of the room and each other, obviously in a good mood, judging by the laughter emanating from them, as one of them, a woman, began to strip – the mood that of a game, not a seduction.

Even as he watched, for Katherine had paused at the entry, two men strode through one of the doors on the left, deep in conversation, and out the opposite door, one of them nodding in return to the greetings called out to them by the group in the room.

Three women entered the room through the very end door, and two pealed off to join the seated clique while the other kept walking. She eyed Lucius, running her eyes up and down his form as she neared, and smiled at him from under her lashes as she past, brushing his body with her own.

In the few moments he had been watching the woman, more people had entered the room, some staying to sit somewhere in the room, others leaving immediately, only passing through.

Obviously the room was a go-between, yet also somewhere for the people of this strange, surreal world, to stop, in between whatever it was that they did.

As his eyes darted from group to group, person-to-person, Lucius noticed something about each and every one of them. Or rather, something that they were not. None were overweight, ugly, timid in bearing or posture or otherwise, in almost _any_ way, unattractive. All were, unmistakeably, sexual beings.

Katherine looked at him over her shoulder, smirking, "Backstage, I suppose it could be called." She said, her voice rich with amusement, and smoothly continued walking.

As he passed the couches and piles of cushions, Lucius noticed there were more people, whom he had missed, lying on the floor, some kissing, caressing, others sleeping, elegant forms completely at ease across the silken rugs they lay upon.

Lucius' spine tingled as he walked through the room. There was a kind of _wrongness_ about it, yet he could not pinpoint it.

His examination was cut short by a sudden _bang_, then the excited chattering of a group as a young girl, of perhaps ten years, whispered something to them.

Then, silence. Some of the group tried to appear nonchalant; going back to their talking, yet their attention was constantly on the far door, others gave up all pretence and stared openly at the door.

The young girl continued on around the room, whispering to each person or persons. As they neared her, Lucius heard the girl speak a name,

"_Tobias. _"

Katharine evidently heard it as well, for she instantly stiffened, stopping her forward motion.

A swish and a flick of motion beyond the door, and then a young man, of perhaps eighteen, strode through.

He paused on the threshold of the room for a moment, and then the silence was broken by the delighted voice of one of the girls in the central group.

"Tobi!" She leapt to her feet and ran lightly towards him, and his face cracked into a devilish grin as he caught her and swung her around, kissing her soundly on the mouth as he set her down.

That was when his eyes met Lucius'.

Momentarily, all Lucius saw was the deep, overpowering green of the boy's gaze, then, as he studied the boy's face, all self-control deserted him and he gaped openly for a moment, before the mask snapped back into place.

The young man, Tobias, gave Lucius a speculative once-over, and whispered something in the girl's ear. She nodded, smiling lightly, and stepped back, her rich, auburn hair swinging across her face.

Then he moved forwards, and his gaze now was unreadable. His eyes flicked over Katharine once disdainfully, before returning to Lucius.

He reached them, and stopped, squarely facing Lucius, and turned his head to look at Katharine.

"And who would this be?" He demanded, one fine, dark brow raised. Lucius noticed immediately the coldness radiating off the boy towards Katharine, and the way the woman's proud posture closed in, as if intimidated by him.

He cut in.

"Lucius Draconis Malfoy." He replied suavely, eyes unimpressed and cool, but watching closely for a reaction from the boy who, incredibly, had noticeable similarities to - …

The boy's regard was no less than Lucius's, but now a glint of amusement entered them.

"Lucius _Draconis _Malfoy?" He said, voice infinitesimally mocking.

"Well I suppose in that case I'd be Tobias _Harold _Grey."

His green eyes flickered slightly at the look that fleetingly crossed the intriguing man's, Lucius's, face at his name.

Katharine made a small movement, and Tobias smiled coldly and looked Lucius up and down.

Lucius felt like he was being sized up by a deadly predator.

"See you around … Lucius." Tobias said, and moved closer to him - uncomfortably close - for a fraction of a second, looking up at the taller man, then walked past him.

The girl Tobias had kissed earlier followed him, her eyes narrowed as she walked past Lucius.

Lucius waited until he was outside the entire place, in a dark back alleyway, before he allowed himself to sag against the rough wall, and swear softly to himself.

_That name, Harold...!_

--------------------

_**Interlude**_

**Location: **_Godric's Hollow_

_The most powerful of human emotions is regret._

Lily hugged herself murmuring a soft child's rhyme under her breath as she stared out the window, the dark grey skies enveloping her vision.

She started as a strong arm wrapped around her waist, stilling her she recognized the scent of James' cologne. She leant back into him, but kept her arms wrapped about her waist.

She felt tears pricking at her eyes, a great lump welling up at the back of her throat. She swallowed and closed her eyes, looking down as her still-fiery hair fell about her face.

"We couldn't have known." He whispered to her, but she remained silent, hearing the crack and tremble in his voice.

"Too late, far too late." She replied eventually, and his free hand came up to stroke the crown of her head, pulling her fully into his arms.

"And still too little." His voice was rough with unspoken sadness, but he and Lily had never had to speak to understand each other, even when they hated the other.

"And Danny – " Lily choked out, "What are we going to tell him?"

James's eyes darkened as they stared over the top of his wife's head, into the thunderstorm.

--------------------

**Location: **_The Castle of the Lady_

_Secret messages and darkling muses._

She let the smoke billow out from between her lips, absently tapping the cigarette with one long, immaculately manicured nail.

Her concentration, for the moment at least, was entirely centred on the thick, richly embossed letter lying on the desk in front of her.

Perfectly arched, brushed eyebrows rose, and then drew together as her eyes, darkly made up, scanned the letter yet again.

She reclined casually on a chaise situated below a huge glass window, overlooking the night sky, completely naked, and even the moonlight itself seemed to drape across her body with effortless sensuality.

She tilted her head to one side, her long, curled blonde hair sliding off one shoulder, and leaned back, crossing her legs and lifting the cigarette – a long, elegant affair, set in a cigarette holder – to her mouth once again.

So. The Dark Lord had finally deemed the time right to begin his war again in earnest. Or, as he liked to call it himself, his _revolution_.

Her mind drifted back to those days, before the first fall of the Dark Lord, and her lips lifted in a soft, sensual smile.

Those who had known of her existence, and what she did, had wondered at the name she had been dubbed with, Lady, and what it had implied. Most had assumed her to be the mistress of the Dark Lord.

Her smile became a smirk, and she stood, walking around the dark desk, bare feet making no sound on the rich carpet of the study, and stopped before the unlit grate of the fireplace.

Eyes dark, she pondered.

Yes, perhaps she had been, but not in the ways _they_ assumed.

-----------------

A tall, lean man dressed in a svelte, dark suit walked down the corridor towards the Lady's study.

Stopping outside the over-sized door, he ran his eyes up and down himself before knocking – it had become second nature – for the Lady appreciated aesthetics.

A murmured voice from within, and he opened the door and entered, quietly closing it behind him. She was standing by the huge fireplace, gazing out the ceiling-to-floor windows into the nighttime sky, cigarette sending dark, spiralling twists of smoke up and around her splendid, golden, curving form.

She turned now, and smiled.

"Yes, Edward?"

He cleared his throat and held out a small, soft grey envelope.

"A message from the Mr Grey, Lady." He said, as she moved forwards and slid the envelope from his fingers.

She thanked him before slicing a nail under the flap and opening it. A small, perfectly square, and completely blank piece of paper fell out. Delicately, she held it to her mouth and _kissed_ it.

From where he stood, Edward could see the faint outline of words appearing in the paper.

She read it and smiled, before tilting her magnificent head towards the fireplace.

"I'm cold, Edward." She purred, and he smiled, withdrawing a slender willow wand from his sleeve and waving it at the grate.

Bright, roaring flames burst up, sending shadows and lights flickering across the Lady's face as she stood beside it.

She made a small motion, and the square of paper, and the envelope, fluttered vainly down into the flames.

Her eyes, dark pools in the blazing firelight, looked up at him, darkly amused.

"It seems our plan has been implemented." She informed him, and he smiled briefly, as if he knew what she was talking, or rather, _crooning_ about, and she nodded, dismissing him.

------------------------

_**The Black Family and the Death Eaters - Interlude**_

_Political theory for the uninformed._

The Black family was an ancient and noble house that had a recorded family history that stretched back farther than any other familys' in Britain.

During some eras, the family had sunk into obscurity, sometimes into poverty, but never, never had the ruling matriarch or patriarch let the family lines be broken or corrupted.

In the past few generations the Black family had enjoyed an unprecedented level of wealth and power, such that though it seemed a foregone conclusion that the family followed the Dark Lord and practised the forbidden arts, the family remained, superficially at least, in the good graces of the Ministry of Magic.

Other noble, seemingly dark, families in Britain had been treated with the same respect as the Black family, some through family connections, as with the Malfoys, others, through the support and backing of the family, as with the Zabinis.

And so, through this network of families, most depending to some extent, whether small or large, old favours or current protection, on the Black family, an empire of sorts was built by the scions of the family, one of high society and decadence.

And they were but one arm of the Dark Lord.

For while many characterized the entirety of the Dark Lord's followers under the label of 'Death Eaters', the truth was that the Death Eaters were, and are, truly only one, more public, sector of the Dark Lord's followers.

----------------

**Location: **_The Stronghold of The Dark Lord_

_Grandeur of evil._

The darkly cloaked and hooded doorman slid through the crack that appeared between the two huge, heavy doors that lead from the antechamber and into the audience room.

In any other man, such grandeur would have become tasteless, but in the Dark Lord, one found a man whom seemed to have been created for the sole purpose of fulfilling such sumptuousness.

Beady, glittering eyes scanned the antechamber before finally resting on the man who had been summoned.

"Lucius Malfoy…" His voice was always soft, just rasping, something one could miss if they were not paying attention. Yet the chosen doorman of the Dark Lord was rarely ignored. Due to his custom of being the killer of those come to see the Dark Lord, people whom the Dark Lord either did not want to see in return, or whom he had, unknown to the unfortunate person, ordered dead, over time, the doorman had come to be known by a different name, the Executioner.

The suave, commanding blonde bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.

"You are bid welcome into the presence of the Dark Lord as the bearer of good news." The doorman pronounced, turning, and pulling the left door open easily, as if it had not been three times his size.

Without another moment's attention to the doorman, Lucius Malfoy strode through the doorway, and entered the room.

It was a long, large chamber, floored in white marble veined with a rich, dark grey colour. Down the centre, a sumptuous, dark blue-black carpet lay, ending at the far end, where a raised dais began.

It was simple, three steps leading up, with one chair sitting in the centre. Unpretentious, it was simply carved of dark mahogany with no embossments. Behind the dais, the room ended in the shape of half a hexagon, each panel made up of glass windows, showing the dark, stormy ocean beyond the edge of cliff on which the stronghold was situated.

Men and women alike gravitated around the room, dressed in the sleek, flowing forms of high fashion, chatting and laughing softly, gracefully moving, like vipers through long grass, as if they themselves were part of the chamber's décor.

The court of the Dark Lord.

When the Death Eaters had been re-introduced to the fold of the Dark Lord, they had been surprised, and not a little worried, to find that during his supposed 'absence' in the five years where all they had heard were rumours of his presence, the Dark Lord had, in fact, gathered a thriving court of followers and allies.

In amidst the sounds of laughter and murmuring voices, the splash and ripple of falling water threaded. Down either side of the hall, a silvery stream of water ran, covered by sheets of crystal and bordered in pure black marble, and partly hidden by the pillars that ran the length of the room.

It was, all in all, a beautiful, light chamber of impeccable taste.

Lucius suspected the influence of a certain Lady.

A man stood on the dais, behind the chair, studying the view from the windows. At the sound of the huge door closing, he turned. He was a handsome man, dark haired and lithely muscular, his form visible even from beneath the dark, billowing robes he wore. A man in his prime, he seemed no older than thirty-five.

Lucius halted, and bent down to one knee.

"Lucius." The man's voice was not raised, yet it seemed to reach every corner of the large chamber, and even in cordial tones, the dark undercurrent of power was threaded through every syllable.

"My lord." Lucius replied, feeling familiar taint of fear holding an icy clench in his stomach.

The Dark Lord held his deepest loyalty, an emotional bond neither easily or painlessly formed, and there was no being alive or dead that held the same respect and status in Lucius's world than the man he was kneeling before.

And the Dark Lord was generous … very generous, and each and every man or woman who followed him was rewarded, each greatly in their own way.

And in each and every man or woman, follower or not, fear was simply an aspect of life when it came to this man.

Powerful, frighteningly and terribly - by the very gods it seemed – gifted with not only raw magical power, but a mind that seemed to encompass and comprehend magic on a level that few, if any had ever achieved, he was, quite simply, not afraid to go to descend to the most horrific of lows and drastic of sacrifices to fully realize his magic.

He was ruthless, manipulative, adored and despised - and he wanted to change the world.

A thump, and then the Dark Lord's voice, much closer now, holding a tint of suppressed amusement.

"You may rise."

Lucius looked up as he stood to find the Dark Lord standing about ten metres from him – having lightly jumped the three steps from the dais to the ground.

The Dark Lord stopped walking as he reached a small, waist-high table on rollers that had been set beside the right edge of the carpet.

Lucius studied it carefully. It held a crystal decanter of dark red wine, an elaborately engraved silver jug, and two simple glass goblets, each with a dragon of silver winding its way up the stem of the goblet and around the ball of it.

Casually, the Dark Lord picked up the decanter and swirled it for a moment, watching Lucius with unreadable eyes, before making summoning gesture and turning back to the table to fill up one – just one – of the goblets with the wine.

Poised, but decidedly cautious, Lucius walked to the table, intensely aware that it was only the streams that broke the silence – all of the conversations had ceased.

The Dark Lord left the table, leaving the full goblet where it sat, and walked several steps away before turning back to Lucius.

"You come with good news, I hope?" It wasn't a question.

"Yes, my lord." Lucius spoke confidently and quickly, inclining his head.

"Thomas Grey has agreed to have dealings with us, though he disagreed with several of the finer points of the agreement."

"Indeed." The Dark Lord remained silent for a moment, then, without moving his eyes from Lucius's face, suddenly called out.

"Lorenna!"

A dark woman moved out, into sight from behind a pillar halfway down the chamber and sank into a curtsey.

"My lord."

"You will discuss the problems of the Grey Agreement with Lucius before you leave."

"Of course." She remained in the curtsey, eyes on the floor.

"Lorenna."

She looked up, and the Dark Lord tilted his head ever so slightly to one side, before his mouth curved in a soft smile.

"That is all."

"My lord." She said softly, her smile generous, eyes delighted, before moving back into the shadows of a tall fluted pillar.

And Lucius tensed as the Dark Lord's attention returned to him.

"While that news is hardly unsatisfactory, Lucius, it can scarcely be called good enough to need to inform me as soon as you arrived, the Kriane family _is _after all, very good at what they do."

The Dark Lord's voice was light, almost jovial, as he spoke, and yet his hand lingered over the handle of the silver jug, and his face held traces of a warning. He was a patient man when the situation required it, but he did not like it, and he was irritated by meaningless interruptions.

Irritation from the Dark Lord generally meant grief and pain for the recipient.

"My lord, there is … something else." Lucius paused for a moment, carefully gauging his next words, then continued, "you know that Dumbledore has been frantically searching for the abandoned son of the – the Potters."

One never knew how the Dark Lord would react to their name – but on this occasion, he remained impassive.

"While leaving the underground complex of Thomas Grey, I crossed the path of a young man of the … _right _age, and had _identical _–" He stressed the word, "eyes to Lily Potter, and my … intuition flashed -" The Dark Lord's eyes looked up at the meaningfully inflected word. Lucius continued, sure he understood, "And he introduced himself as Tobias _Harold _Grey. He was adopted, which is why he adopted the last name of Thomas Grey, it is the custom, I believe." He finished on a suave note; sure he had fallen across a trump card in the boy.

Now the Dark Lord's eyes did light up, and he strode forwards, but rather than go to Lucius, he turned once more to the table and filled the other goblet with red wine, leaving the silver jug untouched.

Lucius let out an imperceptible breath.

He lifted the two goblets and handed one to Lucius.

The Dark Lord's demeanour was completely changed. Now, as he handed the wine to Lucius, he smiled conspiratorially, and his eyes glittered at the bemusement Lucius could not hide.

"Ah, you wonder why I believe it so readily, Lucius?" He sipped the wine, watching Lucius over the rim of the goblet.

"I do not question you, my lord." He replied carefully.

"You see, Lucius," The Dark Lord said, voice soft and eminently self-satisfied, "I have a friend who promised me the twin brother of the Boy-Who-Lived." He took a sip of the dark wine, eyes dark as they watched Lucius over the rim of the cup. He lowered the cup and his eyes hooded with what seemed like delight.

"They promised me Harold James Potter."

The Dark Lord's voice was rich with the fulfilment that can only come from vengeance, and Lucius felt a change in the atmosphere towards him in the room – he had suddenly won favour with the Dark Lord and the court, however reluctantly, had begun to acknowledge that.

Lucius felt the thrill that playing such games of intrigue always brought him. He was rising ever higher in the Dark Lord's esteem.

The Dark Lord turned suddenly, gracefully, and swept his free arm across the breadth of the hall.

"Leave us!" He commanded.

By the time Lucius had fully comprehended the last sentence, he was alone in the room with the Dark Lord.

Whom turned, waving his arm forwards, clearly directing Lucius to follow him, and strode back to the dais, and up to the windows.

Lucius remained on the first step that led upwards.

"Now, Lucius." The Dark Lord said suddenly, "I want you to make sure Dumbledore learns of where the boy is."

Lucius frowned slightly – why give Dumbledore the one thing he seemed to so desperately want?

The silence lingered as the Dark Lord sipped his wine and continued to study the ocean as the first threatening rumbles of thunder crawled through the air.

Without turning, the Dark Lord suddenly spoke again.

"The boy has been abandoned, Lucius, and you see what he has become, or you at least guess correctly, I suspect.

"He will have no great love for such a family, and indeed, who would? To him, it will seem as if they abandoned him simply because he was not the babe who defeated the all-powerful Dark Lord."

A dawning comprehension began to break over Lucius – not from what the Dark Lord was saying, but by something else entirely, for the Dark Lord did not elaborate on his plans and thoughts to any but few, oh so few.

And now he was talking to him, _Lucius_, speaking to him, if not as an equal, then as someone whose opinion mattered.

A deep sense of profound pride rose in Lucius that such a man, in such a world, was coming to consider him one of his closer confidantes.

The Dark Lord turned, studying his wine as he swirled it in the goblet for a moment before looking directly at Lucius.

"Do you understand?" And the tone spoke volumes – it was a complex question, different on so many levels, interpreted in so many ways that could lead to death, obscurity, indifference or a higher level of understanding.

"My lord." Lucius smiled, a predator's smile, and bowed slightly, "I believe I do."

Eyes intent, the Dark Lord took a slow step closer to him, and Lucius had fight not to take a step away.

"You must understand Lucius, it is pure arrogance. I am not above such spite. ... Or the appreciation of such irony. I … _I_, return the Wizarding world's golden family their lost son." He smiled coldly, and Lucius was shocked at the wave of relief that went through him at the knowledge such a smile was not directed at him.

After a pause, the Dark Lord continued, "and he will cause them a world of pain and guilt. Such a thing is not of eminent importance to our goals, and yet …" He turned, back to the windows, "can you imagine how … _ played, _the vain, self-important Headmaster would feel when he discovers this? Our most feared enemy, _foiled_ in a petty game of revenge."

"So now, do you see, Lucius?"

That this was an admission of the spiteful, small revenge of the Dark Lord did not factor into or influence Lucius' near-adoration of the powerful man. The Dark Lord was near immortal, and supremely confident in the infinitely complex knowledge of what it was that _drove _humans, gained in his time as a spirit, and Lucius never forgot this.

Instead, such a speech revealed the tiniest facet of the Dark Lord's true self – something he protected with a wall of cold ice around his heart and mind - and it was Lucius to whom he was making this small confession.

The dark, emotional, clutching spirals of the ties that bound the man to the Dark Lord wormed a little deeper into his mind.

Lucius bowed in acquiescence.

The Dark Lord took a sip of wine, and, complete arrogance resumed, waved his hand at Lucius in complete dismissal, without turning back from the windows.

Lucius strode from the hall, and as he did, the man at the window looked over his shoulder as the blonde man stalked like a feline predator from the chamber.

He smiled ferally as the door swung closed, dark hair falling across one dark blue eye.

_Such a useful instrument – one simply must now how to play it correctly. _

The first ominous streaks of lightning made a jagged slash through the dark, roiling sky.

------------------

In the antechamber Lucius closed his eyes for a moment, quelling the tingling, thrilling yet sickening feeling everyone and anyone, no matter who, always felt in the presence of such a man. It was like vertigo, standing on the edge of a mind-bogglingly high cliff, being the presence of such awesome intellect, of such _power_.

The Dark Lord may have begun drawing Lucius ever closer to him through his tangled courts and embroiled emotional games of trust and deceit – but Lucius was no fool. If his news had disappointed the Dark Lord in any way …

He let out a long breath and began walking down the hallway.

… He had seen the silvery, darkly twirling smoke coming from the lip of the silver jug – smoke tinged with a faint, but vividly poisonous green.

And he had no doubt that he would have had no choice but to drink whichever liquid the Dark Lord had seen fit to pour into his goblet.

---------------

A/N

That was simply an introduction to the AU world my story is set in – and I really need ideas and thoughts on what is flawed, what you think I can improve, and what you would like to see.

And I need the extra push to keep writing!

Merci!

Charlie


	2. ≈˙The Fallacy, Part 2˙≈

**Title** : _Malignant Objects_

**Chapter :** _Prologue - The Fallacy, Part 2_

**Author** : _Charlie Blue_

**Disclaimer :** _What J.K Rowling created is hers, what various other pop-culture or historic arts + events may have inspired parts of this story also belong to their creators. Everything else is mine._

**Warning : **_ Yes, this story does contain slash. (gasp!) It also contains violence, amoral behaviour, harsh language, drug use and (stage-whispers) _sex!

**Notes : **_A few people have mentioned this is confusing. Keep in mind that this is the 'prologue' and so in the next chapter, the 'jumping' around of the plot will settle down onto one main storyline. Promise. (kisses) _

_Also, the story is meant to be a tad 'oh-my-god-where-did-that-scene-come-from?' right now. So for now, just read with the presumption that each scene will be seemingly unrelated (the whole story won't be like that, just the beginning) (more kisses) don't worry. (grins manically) I'll get a beta soon!_

---------------

**At an undetermined Time, Location: The Louvre, Paris.**

_The halls of the famed French museum were empty, furnished with dappled moonlight and scenes of fantastic opulence and beauty._

_A breath – quick movement – a dark shadow._

_A statue of beautiful, goddess-like curves rose ahead._

_The Winged Triumph._

_The shadow went still for a moment – unfolding from the crouched position into the upright one of a tall, athletic, lithe male. Pale green-gold eyes went soft, appreciative._

_Then he moved on._

_The thief progressed in quick, fluid movements, easily outfoxing the muggle alerts and trap with little use of magic, _

_And so it was that in this fashion, patiently and deliberately, the man reached his goal._

_But it was locked away, carefully, stringently. Behind wards unknown to normal humans and yet surprising simple – for its main protection was its anonymity; the world could never have forgotten of its existence but for that it had never known of it._

_The painter itself had killed himself after finishing it –he believed that nothing he ever saw again could ever rival the painting, and that fact had destroyed him in a matter of days._

_The thief slowly cracked his knuckles, and his heart rate rose so high he could do nothing but stare at the wall he had come to, thousands of images rushing through his head, his head beating in time to the hammering of his heart beat._

_Then it stopped. Everything … stopped. And there was nothing but him, his goal, and the moon._

_And he walked through._

_It was, quite simply, astounding. Incredibly, incredibly detailed, from to the silvery scales of the flying fish leaping out of the breaking surf in the ocean far away in the distance to the slight blemishes of grain of the dark black cherry wood, it was a painting that few had ever looked upon, and none who had ever, _ever_, lived a day without comparing life itself to the painting._

_And there it was. _

_The Door to Eden, the Pathway to El Dorado – the passageway to Nirvana._

_In whatever culture or society the myth came from, they were, essentially …_

_The Gates of Heaven._

_Captured – in a million times infinity of brushstrokes._

_And now it was his._

En plus fascile, monsieurs.

_He smirked, eyes gleaming in the reflection of wonder._

---------------

**The present. Location: A Cards Game.**

His cards were no good.

Around the table sat a motley assortment of boys, dimly lit by the glowing embers of the fireplace and several strategically placed candles.

He took a breath, and looked up.

"I'll match you."

He tossed a couple of chips into the centre of the table.

Eyebrows raised and his rivals smirked.

"Raise you ten more and show the hands." One of them challenged, grinning devilishly.

He gulped, and nodded, tossing the required chips onto the table. Simultaneously, cards were shown.

Silence, for a moment.

Then, cards and chips alike went flying everywhere and his noise erupted around the table – over the top, ridiculing laughter rained down on him as his brothers jumped up in glee - a complete onslaught of humiliation and good-natured vengeance fell on him.

"We knew it!"

"The kid was bluffing!"

"Little Ronniekins still can't beat us!"

The red-haired boy slumped backwards, a mulish look on his face as the noise decibel level fell back to something closer to the ordinary.

"Cough up little bro!" A handsome, grinning face came into his line of down-turned vision – messing with his standard sulking procedure.

"That's right! Fifty big ones!" Another, identical face crossed into the picture.

Ron resisted the urge to smack the two self-satisfied heads into each other. In fact, he was just leaning forwards when a heavy weight fell on his head, knocking him back into the chair, mussing up his hair.

Bill's voice sounded from somewhere overhead.

"Sorry kid, maybe next time." The eminent amusement in his voice made Ron seethe.

A good-natured game of cards it may have begun, but the Weasley boys, at least when they lost, became less than happy with the light-hearted, but somewhat binding and humiliating clauses worked out years ago by the eldest children of the clan.

Somewhere, a door slammed, and Ron's next words were never spoken as a wet and rather bedraggled girl slid into the kitchen.

She caught sight of the boys, pulled a face and spun, dropping her bag on the bench and throwing her hair off her face in the one movement.

"What are you boys doing up?" She asked, casually, picking a crumb of leftover chocolate cake and tossing it into her mouth.

"Us!" One of the twins exclaimed indignantly. "Where have _you_ been?"

The other twin frowned scrunching his mouth to one side, "But … _you_ were in _bed_." He proclaimed, in the manner of one proclaiming a mystery of the universe.

The girl in question rolled her eyes, "yeah, I _wa-as_." She flicked her fingers derisively.

"_But?_" Charlie prompted, face serious, eyes dark with something like concern, as he crossed his arms and tilted his chair back on two legs.

She bit her lip cutely and lent on the bench, "I…got up?" She ventured, twisting a bit of hair around her fingers and grinning impishly.

"Seriously Ginny, where'd you go? Hell, in case you hadn't noticed, there's a storm!" Ron burst out, voice incredulous. The brothers had been exchanging looks. Ever since the beginning of the holidays, their little sister had been doing odd things. Not bad things, just … worrying things.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and sighed, looking up at the ceiling before slouching back and shoving her hands in her pockets, obviously trying to figure a way out.

"What's it to you?" She'd obviously given up on cute and was going for moody.

Percy, quiet till now, spoke up, disapproval in his tone.

"Two o'clock in the morning Gin. Not exactly what you'd call an innocent time to be walking into the house unexplained on any night, let along a stormy one like this."

"_Jesus_ guys, give me a break! I was just out with some friends – it's not like none of _you _never snuck out!" She snatched up her bag and stalked towards the staircase.

Unnoticed, Bill frowned at the use of the muggle expletive.

"I would think that we'd have a right to want to know Ginny, seeing as how we're your _brothers!_" George genuinely angry now, stood up, Fred following suit, continuing his brother's sentence,

"When you rock up at the house two o'clock, we get worried Gin! Yeah, unlike what you may think, other people in this family _do _care about you!"

Ginny spun, slapped a hand against the wall uttering a short, frustrated cry,

"I was just with friends okay, _friends! _God, the way you're acting its like I was sneaking out to a fucking Death Eater meeting or something!"

Silence met the end of her short, furious burst, and even Ginny sobered slightly, as she realised what she had implied.

Ron, deathly pale, stood up, "that's not funny Ginny." He said quietly. "Not now. Not anymore."

Ginny took a breath, then snapped her mouth shut and clenched her jaw, throwing one last glare around the room before storming up the stairs.

The boys sat where they were, the storm outside rumbling and crackling ominously of dark times troubling the world and worse times soon to come.

"Fucking hell." Fred murmured.

"And we thought she could still have been innocent." Bill said softly, half to himself, shaking his head, dragon-fang earring swinging from side to side.

-------------

**Location: An Un-named Manor.**

Far away, a woman slipped out from under the soft cover of her king-sized bed and treaded softly over to the elegant armchair and pulled the silken robe off the stately back of the chair where it had been haphazardly tossed the night before.

She pulled it on loosely, letting it drape off her naked shoulders.

She moved towards the door, then turned, looking at the man still lying asleep in the bed. The sheets were casually draped across his waist, one arm flung up above his head, hair falling unceremoniously around his face.

She paused for a moment, then padded gracefully to the bed, looking down at him, her almond-shaped eyes unguarded and soft in her just-woken minutes.

She lifted a hand and ran her fingers gently across his jaw-line, the faint roughness of stubble just visible in the morning light. She closed her eyes a moment, serene, untouchable, then turned away, the moment slipping.

She moved lightly against the carpet before a hand grasped her wrist in a strong grip and pulled roughly, spinning her around and off balance.

Her hair in disarray, eyes momentarily wild with the shock of the sudden movement, she stumbled.

"Are you trying to leave me?" His voice growled, grip never loosening.

Her robe had fallen open, and his eyes moved up and down her form. Pulling herself coldly upright – insofar as she could with his hand holding her arm tight, she raised a fine eyebrow frostily.

"And if I am?"

"You must be punished." His voice was a purr now, playful, arrogant.

She twisted deftly, smiling as she freed her wrist and stepping nimbly backwards.

"So _you_ say." She retaliated, "But _I _have better things to do." She turned and swayed to the door turning and blowing an indolent kiss at him before leaving.

"Later, lover." Her husky voice echoed down the hallway as the man smirked and rolled onto his side in the indulgent bed.

"Ah, Bella." He murmured, eyes sliding closed in the golden sunlight.

--------

**Location: The Ministry Of Magic.**

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, this is _not a_ war! This is a fight for our very right to live freely – without fear of oppression or antiquated values that discriminate against the very blood our witches and wizards were born with!"

The man stopped and levelled a silent stare around the room of rapt listeners, feathers and notepads scribbling madly mid-air, cameras flashing non-stop.

"This is a fight to destroy the faction that has been killing our children, our families, our _people, _lead by the monster who fashions himself as a Lord, He Who Must Not Be Named."

He inclined his head briefly. "Thank you."

Immediately the reporters surged to their feet, clamouring with questions.

The man waved his arm across the room in an abrupt, commanding gesture, before pointing at the one of the reporters, a black man, lounging in his chair in the front row, his quill waving in the air as he eyed the speaker expectantly.

"Yes?" The man at the podium asked.

The black man sat up a little straighter.

"Prime Minister, who speak passionate words, but the question remains, just how many sons and daughters will you need to die for you in this war-" He cut himself off and coughed contemptuously, "ah, fight for freedom?"

The man, the Prime Minister of Wizarding Britain stared stonily, "We do not ask them to die, Mr Drake, we ask them to fight for our country, to fight the growing threat of He Who Must Not Be Named, and the anarchy and hardship he would bring to this world."

The reporter leant forwards, "You make him sound like a threat to the entire world – why are the other nations not massing their armies to fight this … _threat_."

"We are currently establishing a new body, one will hopefully become something that all countries can join and communicate freely through ambassadors and world leaders." The Prime Minister paused.

"The headquarters of such a body is planned to be situated in the Castle of Hogwarts."

A new clamour, more shouting, and one of the guards raised his wand and let off a loud _bang! _

The press quietened down, but a woman at the back shouted, "But Hogwarts is a school! Where will the children go?"

The Prime Minister smiled inwardly at the answer before speaking.

"It is not commonly known that when Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was founded, it was not purely to become a school, but also to be a place where scholars, warriors, travellers and even Kings and queens could come together and share information – it was a sanctuary, a place where no matter what allegiances a person held, they were always treated with equality."

His voice was strong, charismatic and optimistic.

"Over the years, through the course of the Great War, this tranquillity was eroded until the Head of Hogwarts decided to change the castle to simply a school for children, closing down the three entire wings of the castle devoted to the sanctuary.

It is these wings we are re-opening and many countries have already agreed to send ambassadors."

He chose another of the reporters, this time an elderly lady who held herself ramrod straight, her silver, curly hair cropped short.

"And what, Prime Minister Goldwyn, is this body to be called?"

The man allowed himself a small smile.

"The Peace Federation of the Free Wizarding Nations."

-----------

**Location: The Backstreets of London.**

"Lucius, _really_, where the hell are you taking me?"

Lucius turned and grinned handsomely at the other man, "You'll see, Sev."

Severus Snape frowned and lengthened his stride to keep up with the other man. He must have discovered something quite miraculous to get him this excited – even in front of him, one of Lucius' oldest friends, the blonde man almost always kept composure, kept his mask.

"Here!" Grandly, Lucius, swung an arm, indicating an old, run down warehouse.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "You've gotten me out of bed, through three miles of London slums to show me … an abandoned tin can."

Lucius grinned even wider, "underneath that ware-house is the Lady's abode."

Severus looked over the warehouse gain with renewed interest but still looked distinctly unimpressed.

Lucius's grin disappeared as he turned to look directly at the man. He was wearing black clothes, which made the stark whiteness of his skin appear sallow, and his long, dark hair tied back with a simple band, enhancing the sharp, angles of his face that were not at all handsome, but rather, in some way appealing for their uniqueness.

Lucius looked straight into the dark, unreadable eyes of his friend.

"And the home of Harry James Potter."

---------------

_**Interlude : The Life and Death of Annie Hearst.**_

Annie Hearst hurried down the wet, slippery, yet amazingly busy London sidewalk, collar up, chin down, eyes half-closed against the rain falling softly from the darkly overcast sky.

She checked the time on her wristwatch and swore softly, flipping her wet fringe out of her face – she had lost track of the time, and now she was going to miss the beginning of her best friend's new play.

She picked up the pace a little, slipping in her high-heels, and made to cross the road, but slipped, and the skinny heel of her shoe caught in a grate and snapped.

"Fuck!" She mouthed violently, reaching down and struggling with the shoe – it was no use, she was going to have to tip-toe on the foot the rest of the way there – she just wanted to get out of the bloody rain!

The small slip had cost her a minute, and just as she was hurrying off again, she heard an ominous popping sound, then another, and another, until it sounded like New Year's Eve.

Other people were noticing it, and as Annie looked around, she noticed dark figures appearing out of nowhere. Her eyes went wide and she froze as her brain frantically tried to pick out an explanation for what was happening.

Moments later, violently coloured jets of light were flying through the air.

Annie's mouth dropped open and she ducked, scrambling across the road, bag flapping along the ground behind her, mind moving at a hundred miles per hour.

_The rumours! Oh my god, the rumours! They must be true! Magic? What the hell is it! Supernatural terrorists! What the fuck is going on!_

There it was. A dark alleyway, shunned, as a rule, now became her refuge. But too late she reached the corner, and something hit her in the back, and so her last living memory was of excruciating pain.

Annie Hearst never made it to her best friend's play.

-------------

**Location: The Restored Wing of Hogwarts Castle.**

Daniel Jeremiah Narholden entered the grand hall of the sanctuary wing of Hogwarts Castle, boots clicking deliberately on the floor he looked around, face a mask of disdain, the small, dapper goatee never once twitching with suppressed emotion.

His grey, intelligent eyes were cold as he followed the butler, a blank canvas of a man, across the magnificent marble inlaid floor, and up the wide, sweeping staircase.

They traversed a number of richly furnished corridors before the butler stopped smartly in front of a tall, dark mahogany door, and turned sharply, clicking his heels together.

"Your apartments, Ambassador Narholden." He pronounced with a slight bow.

Daniel nodded, and with a small gesture, the butler opened the door.

Daniel walked in, noting that his luggage was already laid at the foot of the large, luxurious bed.

In fact, everything in the room was that of the kind of understated elegance that screamed, or rather crooned, of taste and luxuriousness.

"Sir is pleased?" The butler inquired.

"Well yes, I suppose it will do." Daniel replied turning to face the butler.

"Very good, sir." The butler clasped his hands behind his back. "There will be a meeting tomorrow evening once all the assigned representatives have arrive. You will be kept notified."

Daniel nodded briefly, eyes scanning the room.

"If that is all, I will retire, sir."

"Yes, yes, very good." The ambassador seemed distracted, "You may go."

The butler nodded and turned, hiding a smile. He was just closing the door when the man called out to him.

"Oh, by the way, what was your name?"

The butler turned, "Timothy, Ambassador."

"Thank you, that is all." The handsome man turned, dark hair glinting through the gap just before the door closed.

------------

**Location: The Laverne Manor**

"Daddy!" The young woman, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, ran lightly down the stairs, her light pink silk bed-robe trailing lightly behind her.

A man was in the entrance hall, handing a leather travelling case, dark coat and a hat to a toga-dressed house-elf, whose ears were twitching slightly.

He straightened and turned, revealing a handsome, middle-aged face that still retained vestiges of youth and vigour, despite the well-groomed shock of silver hair on his head.

His face lit up and he moved forwards, towards the stairs with a bounding athletic energy.

"Darling!" He replied, as she flew down the last few steps and leapt into his arms.

"Ooh, I missed you!" She exclaimed lightly, and pulled back, hitting him lightly on the shoulder, "did you bring me anything?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." He informed her, summoning the house-elf with a snap of his fingers and whispering something in its ear before it disappeared again.

He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her off the bottom stair, walking her across the carpeted floor, engaging her in light, teasing conversation.

They reached the lounge suite lurking under the high, arched windows in the corner of the large hall, and sat, just as the house elf reappeared clutching a small, black box in it's hands.

Her father took the box and dismissed the elf, turning to face her, his face deadly serious now.

"Evonne – " He began to say something and stopped, sighing and indicating the box.

She, sensing something, slowly, warily took hold of the box and opened it.

For a very long time she was silent, staring at the contents of the box. Then, finally, she raised her eyes to look her father directly in the face, he, face unreadable, cold, said, "Compliments of the Dark Lord."

The words, uninflected, hard, hung in the air, and her eyes returned to the box before she snapped it shut and rose to her feet, walking slowly, deliberately back across the hall and up the stairs.

Once in her roo, she closed the door and sagged against it, heart beating madly before she hurled the box at a wall in frustration, hurt, confusion and fear.

For inside that small, black box was an ivory necklace, a sculpture hung on a silver chain, the Dark Mark of He Who Must Not Be Named, rendered perfect in miniature.

A clear sign, warning, threat, invitation – a clear something, but what, Evonne did not know, and she had no idea what to do.

---------

**Location: Underneath London, The Lady's domain.**

The bass was powerful, a low, hypnotising beat, the people beautiful – crazy, wild, unrestrained – but beautiful above all.

He fell against a wall head spinning, the room a confusing mirage of drugs, dancing, good times and deviation.

Lines of coke were being snorted faster than they could be laid out, the clothes disappearing even faster, the music so loud there was nothing to do but dance and get high.

His head fell back and he grinned wildly, adrenalin pumping so fast he could barely stay still.

There was a sudden _crack_ and his head snapped up eyes wide with paranoia.

It was a girl, gorgeous, waif-thin, hair dark and wild – her heavy boots smacking against the tabletop she had just jumped on.

Gyrating to the music, face so focused on her dancing nothing else mattered – sharp, smooth movements – so good but so wild he knew she was fucking high – her eyes almost manic – wide dark pools.

Then another girl got on the table and the dance suddenly got steamier.

He pressed a hand against his forehead before running it through his hair and pushed himself off the wall with a sudden burst of renewed strength – the strange otherworldly high that only comes from obscene amounts of spirits and coke on an empty stomach pushing the boundaries of his reality.

He was hot – so he tore his shirt off.

Then hands were touching him, running over him, and he was on the table, one girl up and down against him, the other at his feet – someone was pushing him, he jumped back, and kept on jumping, threw a punch and bounced his hands off his chest, grabbed the closest girl and kissed her – hard.

Naked bodies, suddenly, where was he? It didn't matter because it was dark, candles flickering, and the slow movement of bodies drove him crazy – he straddled a hard six-pack, then a soft woman was on top of him, slowly sliding –

He was being dragged down a corridor, by someone tall and dark, cloak flapping wildly –

a woman, a dark red dress, provocative smoke billowing –

a circus of colours, was that a cat? He was in a hoop, spinning wildly, out of control – then froze.

A syringe, spurting liquid, a boy laughing, passing it on to him, oh, a prick – rush, blood, music, more music, louder.

Suddenly he was dancing again, half-naked sweaty, hair completely wet, and then water was cascading around him and the mass of bodies pressed against him.

Abruptly, he was sitting down in a spinning circle of chattering, laughing, arguing people, someone said "Voldemort." And he thought it was himself.

A scoop of white powder, tiny little crystals, like diamonds, sparkling through his eyes and mind.

Running carelessly up a stairwell, somebody chasing him, he spun, pulled the man to him and –

A woman's voice, soft, dark, saying' "You'll remember me." And him –

He woke up.

Sat up.

Collapsed.

Froze mid-air and lowered himself more gently back onto the – whatever it was, for it was definitely not a bed.

He rolled his head to one side, taking in his surroundings – he was on a cold stone floor, covered haphazardly by a dark, very large feather-down throw. Around him lay several naked bodies; a young woman, blonde, with sex kitten curls, a man, muscular, dark, and another, a blonde, and two more girls lying across them.

"Mmmm, Tobi." One of the girls murmured in her sleep, rolling over, revealing a soft, tanned stomach and small, rounded bare breasts.

His mouth twitched before her sighed and closed his eyes, scrolling through what remained of his burnt-out memories of the night, the day, and second night.

"Holy fuck." He grinned crookedly to himself, putting his hands behind his hurting head and settling in to drift off to sleep again.

------

**Location: Underneath London, the Lady's Domain**

Strutting down the corridor in heavy, knee-high boots, long, floor-length black tailored coat trailing along the ground behind her, the petite young woman returned to the underground world where she lived.

She'd been away a while, on a long, hard job personally assigned to her by Thomas Grey – an assassination, a vampire, a young (comparatively at least), charismatic vampire who'd been stirring up trouble over the clan's decision to remain neutral in the human war.

She turned a corner and came to a room, a rather large room for general purposes, scattered with couches, tables and … people, dead to the world, flung chaotically across furniture, the floor and each other.

She snorted softly, amused, murmuring, "bloody, crazy young whores."

A smooth, but laughing voice emanated form behind her.

"And what would that make you? An old, bitter murderer?"

She turned, looking up at the sardonic, blonde man leaning an arm casually against the wall above her head.

She raised her eyebrows and said tartly, "I like to call it experienced and highly dangerous assassin, actually."

He gave her a condescending look.

Almost anyone else would have got a quick, hard punch across the face, but Jeremiah, he was one of the Lady's wolves. Highly elite and extremely favoured in this underworld kingdom.

And there was the fact, of course, that in this world of beautiful people – he was one of the few who stood out.

"So, what's all this then?" She asked, tilting her head back at the room.

He shrugged, moving past her into the room, "the usual, one of the girl's decided to celebrate nothing and threw an all day and nighter to prove it."

"So what are you doing here then?" It wasn't like someone of his status to take an interest in these kinds of raves.

"I'm looking for someone."

"Oh yeah?"

He turned, straightening from inspecting a tangle of naked limbs, "Yeah, Tobias, seen him?"

"Nah, he probably went off somewhere with several pretty young, extremely wired young things."

"Huh."

--------------

**Location: The School, Hogwarts Castle.**

"Albus!"

The old man looked up, concern in his still bright eyes.

"Severus, what is it?"

The man had burst into his office, stopped, opened his mouth, then turned and paced to the back wall before coming back again, eyes troubled.

"I know something, something you have needed – or wanted, I don't even know – quite urgently for some time now."

"Ah." This dilemma had occurred before.

"I found out from Lucius and I believe I am the only other one who knows." His voice was a troubled mix of frustration and exultation.

It must be very valuable information indeed, but that in turn meant that if Severus told him, he would have to act on it, and then suspicions would be turned on Severus in the inner circle of the Dark Lord.

"Severus, if the news is that important, you _must _tell me." Stressed Dumbledore, "I swear, I will not act in a way that will put you in jeopardy – there is almost always a way to change the information – or – "

"Make enough errors to convince it is third-hand information, I know." Severus finished impatiently, turning to pace again, then changing his mind and facing Dumbledore again.

Abruptly, Severus seemed to come to a decision and sat, leaning forwards.

"It's Harry Potter, Albus, they've found him."

---------------

**Location: Laverne Manor Grounds.**

She was a tall, black girl, gold hoop earrings swinging with the rise and fall of her walk, thumbs hooked through her skinny jeans, short, frizzy hair bouncing in its afro style. _Elaine._

It was a long driveway, through a beautiful garden, a lake just visible in the fading light.

-

A car rolled up at the end, and another girl got out, Asian, beautiful, exotic, delicate, long dark hair fluttering in the wind, dark eyes narrowed. She spotted the black girl and her petite lips softened into a small smile, and she followed, her walk softer, sweeter, her short, floral silk summer dress floating around her. _Melissa_

The manor itself was huge, old, beautiful, and magnificent; it belonged to one of the old families.

-

Another girl arrived, her strawberry blonde hair flicking her shoulders cutely, freckles proudly dusting her nose and cheekbones. Green eyes sparkling, she tottered down the driveway after the other two girls, already slightly tipsy. _Isabelle_

_-_

Diminutive, plump and curvy, a dark, Italian girl flew in on a broom, alighting near the front door ahead of Diana, turning, light on her feet, giving a jaunty wave, and ringing the huge, brass bell. _Marie_

_-_

The door swung open, a prim looking maid waiting inside.

"Miss Martino." She acknowledged, "Evonne is upstairs."

She moved out of the way and Maria skipped past, "Thanks Natasha!" She called merrily. The maid, Natasha, looked down the driveway, and, seeing the other girls making their way up it, sighed, and left the door open.

-

An elegant, slender, nymph-like girl with pale, wispy blonde hair spun into the entrance hall through the grand fireplace, one tall enough to allow a large man entrance without even stooping. Smoothly, she brushed herself off, dark eyes fawn-like.

"Miss Perla, the other girls are just arriving." The maid, standing by the door informed her courteously.

"I see." She said charmingly, but aloofly – coldly even, her voice soft.

_Juliette_

_-_

Evonne hummed tartly, flicking the laced hem of her short, black, silky negligeé, soft jazz playing in the background of her large boudoir-style bedroom. She heard light, quick footsteps, and then the door was flung open and Maria was there, fabulous and beaming, arms flung up in the air.

"Darling! You look gorgeous! What is that, a present from an admirer?" Marie flicked her dark, wavy hair out of her face and Evonne turned, smiled slowly and twirled, dancing forwards, swinging her hips to the music, catching the small girl on a twirl around the hips, and puling her into a hug.

"Actually I treated myself. You like?"

-

Pale, finely boned face illuminated by the last light of the evening, the tall, slender brunette arrived at the front door last of all, eyes pale, grey blue and intelligent, she, of all of them, seemed genuinely friendly to the maid, and stopped for a moment to talk to her before moving on, to the stairs.

_Emilia. _

_----------------_

**Location: The Backstreets of London.**

An old woman huddled further down into her cloak, scowling deeply. _Damn Dumbledore and his bloody hare-brained schemes! _She sulked to herself, eyes flashing bright blue for a moment before returning to their original senile grey.

She'd been waiting here for three hours after taking over from Arabella, and so far … nada. The watchers of the previous few days and Arabella just before her had reported quite a few comings and goings, but so far, on Tonks' watch … absolutely zero human sightings.

She eyed the old, dilapidated warehouse with something approaching resentment, when a sudden clang made her eyes sharpen with interest, before she hurriedly collapsed further against the alley wall and drooped her wrinkled eyelids, muttering to herself.

Through the small slits that were her line of sight, she kept a sharp watch, and, sure enough, there was someone coming out of the building, several someones in fact.

Her eyes morphed slightly, and with renewed night vision, she examined the group.

Her breathing hitched as her sight fell upon the last one to leave, he was a young man, quite probably still teenaged, and … incredibly alluring

It was more the way he moved, and his attitude than his features, which were quite shadowy, but he caught Tonks' attention, and her eye followed him, it followed him right to under the single, flickering street light, whereupon his features stood out in sharp relief, and Tonks' froze.

It would have been imperceptible to anyone who wasn't looking for it, but the similarities were in enough abundance to one observant enough. The brilliant eyes, the messy, jet-black hair, the fine nose and elegant jaw line.

She, who had grown up memorising and analysing faces, saw it as clearly as a centaur sees the future – that is, clear as mud to everyone else and just a little insane, but still somehow made perfect sense that she couldn't express – she saw the son of Lily and James Potter.

The group moved on, laughing, talking, play-fighting and generally disturbing the peace – and the small, silent shadow of a now-young woman followed – barely believing what she was seeing, for she hadn't believed Snape's story for a minute.

It had just seemed so far-fetched, she had, in fact, been suspicious, for it was such an un-Snape-like story to fabricate.

…The twin to the Boy-Who-Lived, an oblivious follower of the debauched world of the Lady.

-----------------

A/N And that's the end of the 'prologue', per se.

For replies to reviews, see my livejournal, the link is in my bio.


	3. ø˙Factors: render decay˙ø

**Title** : _Malignant Objects_

**Chapter :** _Factors_

_fac·tor n_

_1.something that contributes to or has an influence on the result of something_

_5.a person who or organization that buys and sells goods for a commission_

_6.somebody who or an organization that carries out business for another_

**Author** : _Charlie Blue_

**Disclaimer :** _What J.K Rowling created is hers, what various other pop-culture or historic arts + events may have inspired parts of this story also belong to their creators. Everything else is mine._

**Warning : **_ Yes, this story does contain slash. (gasp!) It also contains violence, amoral behaviour, harsh language, drug use and (stage-whispers) _sex!

-------------

**Location: The Order Of The Phoenix Headquarters**

Nymphadora Tonks stood at the far end of a long, beautiful darkly polished mahogany table, directly facing Albus Dumbledore, who, seated at the head of the table, regarded her with serious, but bright blue eyes.

Around the table most of the seat were empty, and there were large gaps between those seated, as if each had a designated chair. There was Lily and James Potter, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall,

In the centre of the table was a pensieve, its silvery contents swirling with unspoken memories.

The room was silent, posed … waiting. The only sound was the soft rush of water as it fell in a thin sheet over the far stone wall into a tranquil pool.

Finally, to Tonks' relief, he nodded gravely, and raised his wand, long sleeve sweeping the table as he murmured an incantation.

Tonks' barely watched as the scene unfolded from the silver folds of the pensieve - three dimensional and visible to all points of view. She had seen it, for it was her memory, and she was still in shock from it.

She closed her eyes for a moment, the ramifications of the memory rising in her mind, then she breathed deeply, and thought of what she'd seen that night she'd followed the long-lost and finally found twin to the Boy-Who-Lived.

--------------

_The group did not stay together for very long, each talking of having separate business to attend to._

_Tonks followed the boy she was now sure was Harry Potter, using her metamorphosis abilities to fade easily into the shadows of night._

_He crossed a street corner and, abruptly, stopped, leaning against a flickering street light that let off a light pool of light in an otherwise dark street. Tilting his head down, so his dark hair fell across his face, he lit up a cigarette._

_Not ten seconds later, five other figures walked out together from the shadows. _

_Tonks examined them. _

_Tall, dangerous men, fighters, of that she had no doubt. She guessed from their stance that they could, quite possibly, be assassins or mercenaries._

_The one standing directly in front of Harry, flanked by the others, all unmoving from aggressive, cautious stances, held a briefcase out in front of him, the case crossing into the pool of light._

_Harry's gloved hand languidly reached out and took it. Soft words were murmured, there was a quiet exchange of information Tonks could not make out, then Harry nodded curtly and turned on his heel, striding down the street. _

_The five men left in the opposite direction, the tension that had held each of them apparently dissipated as they strolled down a side street, chatting like old friends. Their dangerous manner had completely vanished. _

_They were now the kind of men Tonks' would have run to for help if someone was trying to rape her._

_The memory followed Tonks as she hurried down the alleyway after Harry. They walked for a long time, she and Harry, the quarry and the follower, almost half an hour, and Tonks' mind was becoming fuzzy with lack of sleep and the meditation of mindless following, and so the image on the table was becoming fuzzier, more abstract._

_Harry stopped, and turned down a shallow flight of stairs leading down to street level she hadn't seen._

_She followed, and found herself in a kind of a covered courtyard. It was old and damp, but there was a table set up in the far end, where two men were waiting, seated on light metal chairs. As Tonks watched, she saw two other men, standing on opposite sides of the table, hands clasped behind their back, obviously guards of some sort._

_One of them rose, a small smile on his face as he recognized Harry. He was a large man, clad in a dark, finely cut suit, wearing a tilted hat that shadowed his eyes. He spread his arms welcomingly. _

'_Ah, Tobias, it is good to see you again.' His voice was dark and raspy, strangely at odds with the friendly words he was speaking._

_Harry, or Tobias, nodded, 'Nice hat.' He commented, voice light with wryness, and moved forwards, declining the seat offered him._

'_I'm sorry Raoul, I have to make this quick.' He said lifting the briefcase and sliding it onto the table._

'_Of course.' The man replied, teeth glinting, and made a quick gesture, and one of the other men bent down and lifted up a briefcase of their own, unflicking the catch and spinning it so that it opened facing Harry._

_It was full of small packets of white powder._

Vaguely, Tonks became aware of growing discomfort in the room.

_Harry nodded, and selected one of the packets at random, flicking it deftly before opening it and pouring two small amounts of the powder onto the table. Expertly, he drew a small card out of his pocket and formed two lines before looking expectantly at Raoul._

_Raoul nodded, features carefully blank, and one of his men passed him a small straw. Without hesitation, the large man leant forwards and snorted the powder, then leant back abruptly, shaking his head vigorously once or twice, before tipping his hat back slightly and grinning at Harry._

'_That's Grade A unicorn powder m'boy.' He rasped, amusement evident in his voice._

In the room, no one remained unstartled except for Tonks; she heard gasps and exclamations come from all the people seated at the table.

_Harry nodded, his face unseen by Tonks, who was hiding behind him in the shadowed corner of the stairs, and accepted the straw, leaning forwards and snorting the second line._

This action, inevitable though it was, drew worse reactions from the people in the room, and clamour only grew as Harry opened his briefcase for a moment, showing it to the man, Raoul, its contents unseen by Tonks, before closing it with a sharp _click_, pushing it so it slid across the table, and closing the other briefcase, pulling it over to him.

'_Nice doing business, Tobias.' Raul said, pulling out a cigarette and settling back into his chair as one of the bodyguards leant forwards, deftly lighting his boss's cigarette for him._

_Tobias, already walking towards the stairs, briefcase swinging, reacted to the small _snick _of the lighter like a stormy sky to the first stroke of thunder._

_Explosively._

_He twisted, dropping the briefcase, coat flaring out behind him, arms crossing at the waist, arms snaking out with two guns like a feline attacked with claws outstretched._

_**Blam!**_

_With that single gunshot, Tonk's vision snapped back into sharp, horrifying focus from the exhausted blurriness of before._

_The vision played out._

_**Blam! Blam!**_

_The other bodyguard, hand already drawing out a gun, crumpled, eyes wide, the silent man, seated next to Raoul, slumped forwards, blood pooling slowly at his slack mouth._

_Raoul, eyes wide, had reacted quickly, speed belying his girth, and now, as Harry whipped his other arm around eyes level straight down his arm, burning into Raoul, Raoul found himself mirroring him, his own gun cocked and ready to fire._

_But Harry never stopped moving._

_His finger squeezed the trigger once as he strode forwards, Raoul's half-formed thought too complex to have such a fast reaction – _

'_Tobias, why Tobias, what the _fuck! _Is going to shoot me, oh fuck, shoot, SHOOT!'_

_As he fell back into his chair, eyes dimming, Raoul saw Tobias appear in his darkening vision. His mouth, drowning in coppery blood, tried to form words._

_Tobias had no such trouble._

'_Sorry, Raoul.' He said, voice dark, eyes blank._

_In his last moments, Raoul felt a light weight lift from his head, and his last sight was of the graceful, beautiful young man striding away into darkness, coat flaring behind him, briefcase swinging, his own hat perched arrogantly on Tobias's head._

_Tonks was frozen, and in her shock, her body had reverted to its original form, curled up in the corner, against the rough stone wall, she felt herself tremble at the look on Harry's face as he turned._

_She would have sworn that he saw her, that those horribly blank eyes flicked towards her for the barest of moments, but he did not stop, simply swing around onto the stairs, running lightly up them._

_Tonks pushed herself up a moment after he had gone, scrambling back up onto the street._

_And there he was, a dark figure running down the moon-lit street, feet tapping lightly on the path, coat flapping in the wind, the hat of a dead friend defiantly fixed to his head._

_-------_

From the first moment Tobias had appeared in the memory, Lily had been entranced. That was _him. _She felt a sudden, overwhelming wave of certainty in her mind; this was her _son. _

Suddenly the only thing she could do was stare at the vision, tears pooling in her eyes but never falling.

She had not seen him since he was a bawling babe, and what she saw now was a young _man._

Those regrets, dark denials that had been curled up in the back of her mind like a poisonous snake suddenly reared their heads, all those years, his _childhood_, had been without her, his _mother!_

She felt like screaming, crying out, but could not, transfixed as she had become to the vision that was her lost, her _abandoned _son. His every movement, every small gesture fascinated her.

James' hand found hers, and she wanted to look at him, but did not. His hand was tight, painfully tight, but she did not care, her hand was gripping his with the same, claw-like intensity.

She saw the familiar interaction he had with the man, Raoul, and, illogically, felt worms of jealously wring her stomach; this man knew her son _and she did not!_

Then Harry shot the man. Lily was so shocked she literally jumped, a small scream escaping her as her hands, releasing James', leapt to her mouth, green eyes dilating with complete and utter disbelief.

Not only the three others, but the man Harry had _known!_

The memory faded on the image of Harry running down the street, and before Lily had even regained hold of herself, James had pulled her across into his arms, and she curled up there, not sobbing, like she would have thought, just … shaking.

The room sat in silence, each person too shocked in their own way to talk, each needing time to think. Some thought of the consequences of having the Boy-Who-Lived's brother a killer, some were simply shocked by the boy they expected to be the twin of Adam Potter in every way, others … thinking of things of a different sort.

Finally, Albus stood, face grave. All attention turned to him, and Lily, in James' arms, sat up, and moved to her own seat, obviously shaken, but face showing none of it, eyes cold as she looked upon Albus.

'It appears,' Albus said softly, face grave, 'that we have found Harry Potter.'

He waved a hand, and a folder appeared in front of each person, and continued, 'there is the basic information gathered on the person who seems to run this underground organization, a …' He paused and cleared his throat quietly, 'apparently self-styled, 'Lady'. I believe that it is obvious we must retrieve Harry, and bring him back to Hogwarts.'

He sat and leant forwards, flicking open his file, 'Now, Tonks, have you any other observations to add?'

-------

**Location: Malfoy Property**

Draco Malfoy, wrapped grandly in a sumptuous silk throw, stood by the tall window, pouting as he watched the dark clouds scud across and slowly collide in the stormy sky.

The soft growl of strong wind echoed from outside, combined with the soft chiming of the mansion that indicated a fire call.

After a moment, Draco sullenly turned his head, watching as the glowing embers of the grand fireplace burst into flame. He huffed to himself, and spun, the throw trailing ground behind him as he stalked towards the fire.

The gold plate hanging above the fireplace glowed, before a name inscribed itself in flowing handwriting.

Draco looked at the name and smirked, pressing the stone to the left of the plate to indicate that the call would be accepted, before throwing himself onto the grand leather armchair, one leg hanging off the side, head tilted backwards off the armrest, his dark grey eyes looking directly into the fire.

A girl's head appeared, shaking itself delicately, before she focused on Draco.

'Draco,' She said, smiling in amusement, 'comfortable?'

'No!' He snapped, running a hand through his hanging hair, 'Do you know how bloody _boring _summer is when it isn't summering?'

The girl's smile widened into a grin, and she began to say something, but Draco cut her off, continuing, 'And it doesn't help when your friends _abandon _you to your grand, rich, utterly _empty _mansion and forget all about you!' He coughed, '_Pansy!'_

The girl, Pansy, continued grinning, this was the Draco she'd become friends with over the past year, whereas before she'd simply been a fawning follower.

Dramatic, unashamedly spoilt and completely arrogant and self-centred, the reason Pansy, once she'd gotten to know the real him, actually _liked _him, was because he _knew _he was all these things, and so, while he didn't take his status for granted, he was damn well going to enjoy it. She loved that he wasn't in love with his own power.

'Well if you would be quiet for one moment…' She drawled, widening her eyes and looking up, giving the impression that she had crossed her arms and was tapping a foot.

Draco shut up.

When that failed to get a reaction, he sighed, and sat up, slouching into the chair.

'Yes, Pansy?' He asked, his voice the very embodiment of insincere apology.

Pansy immediately dropped the pose and leant forwards, or at least must have, as her head came further out of the fire, blonde, and coiffed hair bouncing slightly.

'You know those rumours that have been going around, about that underground organization in London?'

Draco frowned, sitting up, former sullenness forgotten in the face of a mystery that had been bandied about by some of the people in his circle for the past few weeks.

'That one Blaise's cousin said has ties to the Dark Lord?'

Pansy nodded emphatically, 'Yeah, well, turns out, some of Julia's muggle friends swear by some kind of a underground club that is completely secret and exclusive, but once inside, could very well be what we've heard about.'

Draco's eyes lit up, and he smirked devilishly, 'And you wouldn't happen to know where this is, would you?'

Pansy's smirk mirrored Draco's. 'I suppose me, Blaise and Julia will just happen to drop by later on today … You did mention that your parents were out of town, didn't you?'

------

**Location: Unknown**

In the dark, mist covered morning, her eyes opened for the first time in millennia. They were dark, streaked with purple and delirium, her mouth a pink rose-bud of defiance.

Her lips opened, and from them a scream of pure energy emanated, unheard but for the planes of immortality, resounding like a strangled heartbeat through space and dimension.

To her bed of silks and furs, climbed a young child. Androgynous in nature, his hair was soft and lightly curled, blonde as the morning sun that crept over the jagged horizon, face dark and innocent, soul unguarded by the knowledge of time.

The pyramid of stairs that he climbed tapering to a single point, a stage that soared to the fire-streaked sky. It was on that pinnacle, amidst falling droplets and slumbering creatures great and small, delicate butterflies, their intricate wings dancing on the wind, to magnificent lions, glorious manes nestled on folded paws, that her bed lay.

He carried a bowl of pure crystal, filled with water that sparkled like all the oceans trapped in a single vessel, uplifted before him like a sacrifice to a heathen altar.

Except that there was no sacrilege here, in this paradise of seedling creation.

He reached the platform, and, stepping lightly between the sleeping animal forms, reached the bed. His eyes, adoringly, looked upon the figure of the transfixed being. The bowl tipped, and the water spilled - not like water should, dripping and spilling - but in a thin sheet, like frozen ice, and it slid across her still form, anchoring it to this world.

Around her, animals awoke, and her scream became heard, her pupils contracted and a fell wind picked up around her bed.

The scream, painfully raw, cutting the edge of reality and insanity, died, but the wind did not, swirling dangerously around the still tableau. The boy, placid, set down the bowl, and stepped back, kneeling gracefully amidst silks and frantic birds.

And from the mouth from whence that terrible, unearthly sound had come, an impossibly soft, beautiful voice sprang.

_Dark among the times of gods_

_Not one but many, the world shall spin_

_Its axis upon, and magic shall bear_

_The brunt of punishment for years entrapped_

_And beauty shall emerge, intact and glorious_

_In fury of scorn, grace of power_

_I who was promised eternal death for services past_

_Have spoken falsehood and so shall tell_

_Of pain and life for another cycle_

_Till freedom comes and love prevails_

_And corruption of faith, liberation of heart,_

_Come to justice, and the world shall change _

And the god, in his tall heaven, became jealous, once more.

------

**Location: London**

Draco followed thee muggles, Julia's friends, down the steep incline. The corridor he was walking in was rusted and concrete, with pipes visible, running up and down the walls, graffiti scrawled over everything.

By now, the dark, incredibly strong bass was thumping through his chest, and he looked to his left, at Blaise and Pansy, who were practically leaping down the corridor in excitement, their movements wild, voices slurred and loud, already half drunk.

They had gone to the muggles' apartment, much to Draco's distaste, but he had endured it purely as a means to an end. Pansy and Blaise, and Julia of course, were not so inhibited, and fully helped themselves to the crude muggle alcohol. His mouth twitched in distaste.

There had been no trouble at the door, because, for starters, there was no queue, and the doormen seemed to recognize the muggles and let them pass through cheerfully with their strange friends, even, at the muggles' behest, and with grand descriptions of their personalities, had the young magicals added to some sort of a list.

Yes, Draco had refused to learn the muggles' names.

He looked around in interest, not at the surroundings, which were, admittedly, rather boring, but at the people moving around them, both up and down the corridor, talking, laughing, dancing their way towards wherever it was they were going.

Then they reached the end of the corridor, and Draco's eyes went wide momentarily, his lips parting in astonishment before a grin spread across his face. Faintly, behind the suddenly incredibly loud music, he heard Pansy making exclamations of delight. It was so wrong, so forbidden, so muggle, so, incredibly, alluring.

The enormous playground of nighttime pleasures pulsed with fantasy.

------

**Location: The Lady's Domain**

Fiona laughed as she half ran-half tottered down the corridor, hair flying behind her, high-heels clattering along the concrete path, eyes dancing and flaming, as she turned, smiling with reckless abandon at another girl, running behind her.

She saw a couple of the boys, coming out from a side corridor, and they saw her, and waved. She laughed, twirling in mid-air before landing, almost rolling an ankle, and over-correcting, falling backwards onto the wall as they walked out in front of her.

'Come on!' She exclaimed, pushing herself off the wall and grabbing one of the boys' hands and pulling him with her, past a group of teenagers, eyes momentarily caught by the white-blonde hair of one of the boys standing just inside the club. She turned, grinning, 'Alannah's stripping with Tobias!'

The boy grinned, and moved quicker, 'the ice-princess? Tobias? What are we waiting for?' His companion, catching up, slurred a question.

The boy grinned a lop-sided, charming grin, eyes dancing with amusement, 'Those kids are so fucking exclusive, you're gonna see one of them stripping down here … like … never!'

He grinned, and disappeared into the throbbing crowd, heading towards the huge, central bar.

-------

Tobias revelled.

Down to his leather pants and not much else, he strutted along the huge, panelled bar, flinging his shirt away.

The crowd, lead by the inhabitants of the Lady's world, who _abso-fucking-lutely_ _loved _him, roared.

Tobias laughed; arms spread wide, head flung back, hair falling across his face.

Alannah, across the other side of the large, circular bar, was already down to black lingerie and stilettos, slinked across the marble surface, neck arched proudly, hips strong, mesmerizing.

Both of them, high on the illustrious, much sought-after Unicorn powder, had dared each other to come down here, like one of the common whores, and, as Alannah had said in her gorgeous, sultry drawl. 'Make the fuckers _beg_.'

They held most people in contempt, Alannah and Tobias, dangerously more so when intoxicated.

------

**Location: Hogwarts, the same night.**

Albus, dressed respectably in a well-cut, navy blue suit, his long beard apparently magically shortened to a nice, close-trimmed one, a silver-headed wooden cane in one hand, peered over his half-moon glasses at Lily and James.

They were pale, fidgety with nervousness, but calm, dressed in simple muggle clothing, Lily in a cream cashmere sweater, with black jeans, and James in a casual dark green shirt and black slacks.

He had talked to them, long and hard about everything. What they had done, why, what to expect, how to understand how their son would react, and how to find him, infiltrate the Lady's domain.

The Order had come to the decision that Albus, Lily and James would go tonight, to try to at least contact, or at least _see_ Harry, before taking more drastic measures.

Albus nodded at the couple, before holding out a small object, an old-fashioned smoking pipe, which they both reached out to simultaneously, their faces a mixture of hope and apprehension.

He spoke a word, and the portkey was activated.

---------------

A/N **Important**

I _really _need feedback. Not only for the story's sake, but I need to know how many people actually want me to continue this story enough to write even just a one or two word review. If you read, add to your favourites, to your alerts, to your C2, _please_ review!

A longer review, with constructive criticism, creative ideas and advise are incredibly, _incredibly _appreciated, but if you do not have time/ can't be bothered, _please _just make a simple review. Thank you very much.

**Regarding Slash: **People have mentioned worries about slash. This story will not be simple a _het _or _slash _fic, there will be _both_.

P.S I know I said there would be action! But I wrote and wrote, and waited and waited for the Conflict Muse, and she, quite simply, did. Not. Come! Quite obviously, confrontation will be in the next chapter, which will be v. good, brilliant in fact, and quite … unpredictable. (This is of course, the arrogant _artiste _in me speaking before the actual writing begins … Hey, I need motivation, right?)


	4. ¥˙Consciousness: is deadly˙¥

**Title** : _Malignant Objects_

**Chapter :** (un)_consciousness_

_con·scious·ness n_

_1.the state of being awake and aware of what is going on around you_

_2.somebody's mind and thoughts_

_3.the set of opinions, feelings, and beliefs of a group_

_4.awareness of or sensitivity to issues in a particular field_

_5.the part of the human mind that is aware of the feelings, thoughts, and surroundings_

**Author** : _Charlie Blue_

**Disclaimer :** _What J.K Rowling created is hers, what various other pop-culture or historic arts + events may have inspired parts of this story also belong to their creators. Everything else is mine._

**Warning : **_ Yes, this story does contain slash. (gasp!) It also contains violence, amoral behaviour, harsh language, drug use and (stage-whispers) _sex!

**Official Apology: **_Nothing will make it up to you, so I say this, in the hopes of defending myself._

_A writer can only write when she writes. Anything more or less becomes false letters on a page of pretentious words._

_----------_

"We know who you are."

Lily was startled, and not a little suspicious, and sensed that James was as well. She looked at Albus, but he was unreadable as always, eyes twinkling as he stood in front of the two men guarding the entrance.

This wasn't the usual entrance. They had tried there, but the guards had taken one look at them, and redirected them around the block to this sleeker, more professional door. The guards must have had some sort of an identity sensor, for the door opened immediately, admitting these suited, elegant men who, for all that they were not nearly so large or threatening as the bouncers at the original entrance, instantly were categorized as a serious threat in Lily's auror-trained mind.

A third guard, just visible inside the darkened hallway behind the still-open door, was murmuring into a cell phone, writing something down in a large book resting on a small shelf in-built in the stone wall.

Faintly, Lily could some of the words.

"…three of th…yes….Potter's…..sure…sensor verified….more…Dumble-…."

Lily wanted to take down that guard. It would be easy, a flicker of deadly power, disable the other two guards with a silent thumb-jab to the neck for the closest one, and a spinning kick for the other one, and sprint through, to wherever that darkness would take her. But she didn't, and restrained the sliver of power that had grown from those thoughts, because the logical part of her knew that if she entered that place through violence, she would never find her way out again. Alive _or _dead.

James kept an uneasy eye on his wife, on the trembling, taught muscles of her legs, the restrained wildness glimmering in those eyes, felt the killing instinct spark the magic within her. He tensed, ready to throw a power-blanket over her if she broke, and sighed with relief when she fought it down, the change imperceptible to anyone but him, who loved her and was bound to her through magic, power, love and honour.

The guard inside leaned out suddenly, whispering something to the others, his dark eyes flashing up once, before shifting back inside so he melted into the shadows.

One of the men nodded, and looked at Albus.

"Mr Dumbledore-" He began, voice professional, but edged with something else.

Still smiling gently, Albus broke in. "Professor." He corrected.

The other guard flashed a look at him, but the first kept talking smoothly, as if Albus had said nothing.

"You were unexpected here, and we apologise for having kept you waiting. What is it that you would like?"

Levelly, Albus fixed his eyes on the man, all masks of kindness gone.

And the man's own eyes widened as he was confronted with, and finally understood the reason why this man had become so powerful.

Albus spoke a single word.

Inside the door, out of sight, the third guard whispered that name into the phone.

The answer came immediately, without hesitation or thought.

A minute later, Lily and James Potter, famed heroes and fierce leaders of the fight for the free world, and Albus Dumbledore, that most powerful wizard known to live, were admitted into the domain of the Lady.

--------

The world slowed.

The crowd, the dancers, the wild ones spun and screamed, and threw an offering to him, laughter ringing through the threads of music.

Tobias spun, a feline predator in a human body, eyes half-way mad, glittering with an eerie fire as he looked at the intoxicated boy who had been pushed up to the bar, his white-gold hair shining, eyes shining, sculpted cheeks flushed.

He had no wish for a golden, light one, so he snarled, shoving the boy so he stumbled, fell backwards. The crowd roared like a gladiator stadium.

In a moment, Tobias was on him. Draco's world, spinning and bright, slowed, their bodies almost touching.

Then Draco looked up into his eyes. The flash of recognition in those knife-bright burning eyes sent chills down his spine. A moment of stillness in the maelstrom. Then Tobias slid down him, leaving a line of ice-fire. And to Draco, the world had shrunk to encompass only the two of them, this time, with the bass thumping along with his heart.

He though they had spoken for a moment.

"_Lucius wouldn't happen to be your daddy would he?" _That voice, crooning and silky sharp.

Him, half-delirious, too far gone to be shocked or even think of caution, breathing a single, damning word.

"_Yes." _

A malevolent smile.

"_Say hi for me."_

It was the pain that snapped him back, pain from the thin line of blood down his torso, a line Tobias had left as he slid down, a slender nail slicing through cloth and skin to leave him bare from the hips up.

Breathing fast, panic and alcohol spinning so fast around him he could barely think, he looked up.

He was there, standing, tall and beautiful at his feet, smiling cruelly down at the confused boy before he moved forwards and violently kicked Draco off the bar.

That was the last thing Draco remembered of that night.

-------

Alannah and Timo looked at each other, eyes blurred with impending soberness and apprehension.

They were in the crowd of high, beautiful, wild, dancing people following a single person, walking alone and predatorily, deeper and deeper down the levels of the public part of the Lady's world.

It was Tobias, of course it was Tobias. Who else could cause such a furore over a fight? Somehow he had aroused the ire of a man three times the size of him, and a minor disagreement had escalated to this. A dirty, chain-box, bare-fists fight.

-------

They followed the woman who had been sent to escort them.

She was astounding. Her fair hair curled back over a face reminiscent of the high elves, her cheekbones high and sculpted, eyes breathtakingly dark, and her skin golden-bronze, silkily clinging to the magnificent lines of her face.

She walked indolently, like a deadly god placed in a world where nothing and no one could possibly be more powerful or more beautiful than her. She stalked the halls, and beauties and powers that would have been head turning on the streets scattered before her like frightened rabbits.

And well they should. She was one of the twelve wolves of the Lady.

"_Take them straight to him." _Her orders had been, and they amused her, because she could well imagine what kind of things Tobias could be up to, which meant that Thomas, or perhaps even the Lady, wanted these light wizards to see just what this boy was.

And judging by where exactly she had been told to go, they were going to get an eyeful.

As they walked further and further, and saw more and more of what kind of a place this truly was, she sensed them grow ever more uneasy.

They reached a large, warehouse-like room, with dirt floors, and a raised fighting platform surrounded on three sides by walls that became elevated platforms, platforms that were currently pulsing with shouting, leaping crowds of men and women and all those in between.

The fighting stage was surrounded by walls of loose chains that would give a little when pushed, and occupied by two men.

One was a beast of a man, furious, by the look of him, pacing his corner of the ring while waiting for the next round to start, eyes dark, huge body glistening with sweat, the muscles in his arms bunched like huge fists. His shirt hung half off him, and he turned, rage filling his every movement.

The other was facing away, resting against a corner of chains, bare from the hips up, his arms spread wide open and above him, loosely hanging off the chains. His back rippled with lean muscle, the spine curving smoothly down into his leather pants, which clung to his skin dangerously low on his hips, revealing a small tattoo at the very base of his spine. His head hung.

The woman halted, staring meaningfully at the fight, and so the three people following her stopped warily, eyes following her lead, fixed on the ring.

The bell rang, beginning the round, and the crowd _screamed_.

The smaller man, turned, revealing a face carved from beauty and cruelty, a cigarette smoking from the corner of his mouth, and flung his sweaty dark hair back, and tossed the cigarette away in a careless, graceful gesture.

The other roared, spinning surprisingly lightly for his girth, and crossed the ring in three swift, powerful strides and drew back a powerful arm, slamming it into the dark man's face, sending him reeling back.

Pressing his advantage, the giant moved forwards, pummelling him into the corner, punishing him mercilessly, his huge fists smashing the smaller man's lean torso.

The smaller man threw a couple of punches, one connecting with the face hard enough to push him away for a moment of let up, and the smaller man danced away, eye bloody, breathing hard.

The huge man came at him again, and he danced away, light on his toes, eyes wild. This went on for a while, the huge man becoming more and more enraged, until he finally shoved the younger man up against a chained wall, and attacked him so ruthlessly that parts of the crowd, even caught up in bloodlust as it was, winced.

The woman felt the three become unsettled, horrified by the pure bestiality of the attack.

The bell rang, ending the round, and the smaller man fell to the ground, completely still, hands braced weakly against the ground beside his shoulders.

Silence permeated the crowd, the bass from the main dance arena boomed through the walls, and the man spat blood, arms trembling as he pushed himself back up.

The crowd leapt into movement again, yelling for more.

The large man thought it was over, the woman could tell as she narrowed her eyes at the fight stage, he was grinning wildly, sure he would take out Tobias in one punch in the next round.

But she saw Tobias as he rose; saw the quiet rage in his eyes that had not been awakened until now, the fierce pride threatened.

The bell rang.

The man charged him, his huge arm shot forwards, the crowd screamed.

It happened so fast she could see confusion in the crowd.

One moment a colossally powerful punch had been shooting straight at Tobias' face, the next the giant beast of a man was toppling, falling, and hit the ground with a thud that echoed throughout the silent arena.

He didn't get up, didn't move, his massive torso didn't even move with breath.

The beautiful young man jumped, crossing his arms in front of him, eyes feral as he spat.

She had seen, but only because she knew what to look for, had seen that deadly fighter surface before.

The punch had gone wide as Tobias leant back and flung his arm forwards, across the man's face with deadly accuracy and incredible strength, darting, like a snake.

In the less time than it took to blink an eye, he had knocked out the massive man with punch that, she knew, could _kill_.

Smiling, she turned, spreading her arms wide before the scene, her eyes shining.

"You wanted Tobias?" She murmured against the noise.

It wasn't a question, and the looks of pure shock, horror, defiance and apprehension were quickly hidden.

She would take them now to a private room to await him, and then go and fetch Tobias himself, instructing him to go looking _exactly _as he was.

Her smile became a dazzling, diamond-edged grin.

--------

The room was soft and dark, lit by lamps and a flickering fire, decorated with dark woods and rich carpet.

Sumptuous leather couches formed a semi-circle around the fire, and violent, fiery paintings hung on the walls.

Lily and James sat next to each other, silently watching Albus as he paced the room. The beautiful lady – she had never offered her name – had told them to make themselves comfortable, then left them.

The door opened, and Albus spun, as Tobias sauntered in, his black eye untended, a graze slicing across one cheek, bruises and fierce cuts decorating his still-bare torso.

Lily looked at him, eyes drinking up the sight.

He was glorious; the most beautiful boy she had ever seen, that lingering feral gleam in the eyes that were even more brilliant than her own, the careless, feline grace he moved with, even as he trembled almost imperceptibly with fatigue and pain.

Her eyes flickered to James; he was captivated just as she was.

Then Albus spoke, and the spell was broken.

"Ah, you would be Tobias Harold Grey?" He inquired, voice holding just enough power and magic to let Tobias know he was not just an old man.

Warily, Tobias nodded, unsure if this was an assignation, or something different. Elaine had told him nothing, only to go as he was. Unleashing the strangle-hold he held on his sexuality, he let soft tendrils escape, magic that wound through the air and made the fiery-dark red haired witch's eyes go soft, and the man's body tense, and the old man swing around to examine him intensely.

He knew who they were, he recognised them from all the newspapers and news reports, they were powerful, and fighters, he knew, and he respected and admired them not a little for their fierce dedication and honour in the face of the encroaching danger.

He had no idea what they were doing in a place like this, so he fell back into what was familiar.

He glided forwards, offering an unobstructed view of his body as he moved, and crooned silkily,

"What do you want?" The soft, rich inflections took the bluntness away from the question and made it one of velvety suggestion rather than crudity.

He had received countless answers to that question, or the like, all so different, and from that simple answer alone, he would know how to play to his patrons' darkest desires. It was a hard won skill, and a useful one.

"Not _that_." Dumbledore's reply came out sharper than he intended, and he saw the flicker of irritation that flew through the boy's eyes before, abruptly, the tantalizing, seductive compulsion unhooked its delicate claws from the room. Dumbledore doubted anyone less perceptive of the intricacies of magic would have been able to understand what the boy had done to them; he doubted even Lily or James understood.

Which would have accounted for the faintly sick look he saw mirrored between Lily and James' faces as the tendrils dissipated.

There was a leather coat lying across a low cabinet on the far side of the room. Tobias spun, and walked over to it, and smoothly pulled it on and crouched in one motion, opening the glass doors of the cabinet and pulling out several crystal glasses.

He flung a look over his shoulder. "Drink?"

James shook his head with a murmured, "No thanks." Lily didn't move.

Albus looked at the two briefly, and made a collective reply. "We're perfectly fine, thank you Tobias."

Tobias shrugged elegantly, and pulled out a decanter, and splashed a generous amount of the rich liquid into one of the glasses, grasping it as he turned once more, and moved to the couches, brushing past Dumbledore as he did so. The man looked down his half-moon glasses, eyebrows raised at the dark head of hair as he moved past.

Tobias fell into an arm chair, casually draping one leg over an arm, the leather coat flaring out over the edges of the chair around his naked torso, glass cradled in his lap with one hand curled around it.

Looking at that hand, James frowned slightly, hazel eyes narrowing. It was strong and elegant, but the fingernails were long, and darkly tinted. He looked up and flushed faintly as he met the boy's eyes, which were looking at him, darkly amused at where James had been staring.

"Tobias."

His eyes snapped up to Dumbledore at the sound of his name, sensing, from the tone, that these people were finally going to get to the point.

"Did you ever wonder why they gave you the middle name Harold?"

"No." The blunt answer seemed to unsettle the old man, and Tobias smirked inwardly before continuing.

"I chose it."

He almost snarled. That seemed to make all three of them subtly happy for some reason.

James leant back and folded his arms, barely containing the tremble that seemed to take hold of his body as he waited for Albus to say the words that would change that indolent, arrogant look on Tobias' to … something else. _Let it be joy, _he wished desperately; _let it be something, _anything,_ other than hatred._

Albus' blue eyes were grave as they locked onto Tobias'.

"Your real name _is _Harold."

"My name is whatever you want it to be." His voice was wicked. Lily blanched.

"Harold James Potter."

His eyes flickered as a thousand thoughts flew through his mind. Silence was gravid as the three waited, as Tobias did not move, did nothing, for a full minute.

Finally, he looked up, not at Dumbledore, but at the other two, the wealthy, powerful darlings of the wizarding society, world and ministry. The mother and father of the Boy-Who-Lived. The boy who was the same age as him.

One word. That was all it would need to break a dam and let his life flood forth from their lips. His life in truth.

"Why?"

Lily shivered. That voice was nothing, not betrayed, not angry, not even curious. It was cold. Pure cold; completely inflectionless, inducing unalloyed truth and fear.

So they told him. Haltingly at first, unsure, unsettled by his lack of reaction, then faster, spilling over each other, their voices rising, explaining, telling the story that ended with one abandoned son and one loved.

How that night, that terrible Halloween night, they had returned home from an urgent meeting to find James' grandmother dead, and the two children, twins, they told him, in the nursery. Daniel, The Boy Who Lived, curled up on his side, eyes wide, letting off magical aftershocks, a smoking golden ring set with a single ruby lying on the floor in front of him.

Harry, the other twin, had been sobbing and covered with cuts and grazes from the collapsing house, tainted by something that had turned out to be the result of absorbing some of the magic left in the environment by the incredible destruction of the killing curse. Daniel, having been the cause of the destruction, had been protected from the taint, and from the collapsing house, by his own power, still fizzing and sparking within him from the event.

The ring they had been unable to move, to even touch or affect in any way. It could not even be destroyed. It simply lay there, untouched, seemingly harmless, stripped of any power by it's master's death.

How in the days that followed the taint in Harry had not faded, had begun to grow. How, at first, it had begun to affect his behaviour, he wouldn't eat, wouldn't react to anything, then would laugh or burst into violent tears at inappropriate times, how something seemed.. _off_ … _wrong _about the baby.

Then, as the taint grew, they saw it begin to affect Daniel. How Dumbledore, frantically searching ancient texts for answers to the paradoxes created by that night, had come across something similar. The taint itself fed off the magical signatures of those around it – if Harry had been a muggle, and so surrounded by muggles, it would have faded away by now.

They had all known the answer then, but none had wanted to confront it. Then an incident had occurred. Little Harry had gotten angry, riled up for some reason while they had all been gathered one night, toasting the dissipation of the Dark Lord's widespread army and power, and had pointed at Daniel, green eyes hot with baby-ish frustration and yelled out two words, garbled by his baby's mouth, but unmistakable.

_Avada Kedavra. _Daniel had been knocked backwards, a trickle of blood forming from his nose.

Then they had known, known that Harry had to be sent away, at least for a while, until that taint had faded.

How Harry had gone to an orphanage, a good one, with kind nuns and respectable surroundings. How they had gone back three years later, and Harry had vanished. Not just gone, taken from the orphanage, but actually _vanished_.

And now they had found him.

"Don't you understand, Harry, now we've found you, you can come back, back to the world you belong to, come to Hogwarts, learn magic, learn to be a _family_!" James said, silent tears tracking down his cheeks. They were both crying, Lily and James; retelling that harrowing time had been hard.

And now, finally, Tobias stirred; slowly, deliberately, he lifted the glass to his mouth, and flung his head back, swallowing the whole thing in one go before slamming it down onto the low table in front of him so hard it cracked in his hand.

He didn't seem to notice, rising instead, pacing viciously as if he could not remain stationary. At last he spun violently, and the cool façade broke for the first time, revealing the brink of a deep ravine.

"My _name,_" he snarled so malevolently Dumbledore's hand fell to his side, ready to whip up his wand if needed.

"Is _Tobias_ to you!" He continued, and hurled himself forwards until his arms were braced on the back of the couch above his parents, and his furious face only inches from theirs.

"And my world," he whispered, his breath sweet despite his anger, his malice, "is this."

He shoved himself back, and spread his arms wide, displaying his beautiful, battered body in front of the cracking fire, and spun, eyes wild, in desperate pain.

"How many years?" He asked, his voice a cracked yell, "why now, why did you find me _now!_ You! Who have _so _much power, you are the _darlings _of the world, the _heroes!_" His face twisted.

"And you _knew _about me? Everything, all along, you could have found me but didn't. Why? Because I was _tainted!_" His voice coiled on the word, "because I was a _threat _to your precious Boy Who Lived!"

James felt Lily rise to it, felt her dangerous ire awake as she exploded out of the seat, and, crying unashamedly, she screamed back. "_There was nothing we could have done_!" Her fists balled, in anguish and anger, "There _was _a taint! But we _loved _and we _love _you because you're our _son!_ And we lost you!"

Tobias' face went still, and he turned to the fire, lowering his arms. Lily, confused by the sudden surrender, fell back from that deadly anger, dashing the tears from her face in a fluid movement.

The coat slid from his shoulders. Firelight danced on lovely flesh. And he turned, and the look on his face was sick with comprehension, with anguish, with betrayal of some kind.

And those tendrils, those delicate, silk-velvet, rapier-cutting tendrils slid through the room, hooking their claws gently, irresistibly, into them.

"But I am a whore, _mother,_" he said, voice that deadly, silky croon, "Could you love a whore?"

----------------------

Severus took one look at Albus and knew.

"That bad?" He asked softly, deftly pouring out a cup of tea for him.

"Yes." A single word, whispered. Blue eyes brimming with sadness and a thousand regrets.

"What will you do?"

Albus rose, and walked to the window.

"He refused to come, refused to listen to us, refused to _understand_ why he needs to come back to our world."

There was silence for a long time. The Albus turned, and the grief had been sheathed with something else.

Determination.

"So we will kidnap him. We have to kidnap Harry Potter."

------

End of Chapter.

Please review! I'm in a delicate state, and _need _to know what you thought of this, of how the characters are developing, of whether you like where I'm taking the story.

Even just one or two words of encouragement help me so much. _Please_.

Thankyou.


	5. ∆˙Capture: only descends˙∆

**Title** : _Malignant Objects_

**Chapter :** To attempt a _Capture _

_3.to win control or gain possession of something in a game or contest_

_4.to enchant or **dominate** somebody's mind, especially somebody's imagination, _

_or hold somebody's attention_

_5.to win the love or affection of somebody, especially by being charming or **attractive**_

_6.to describe or **represent** something, especially something fleeting or intangible, in a lasting medium such as painting, writing, filmmaking, or sculpture_

_n_

_1.the act of being captured or of capturing somebody or something_

_2.somebody or something that has been captured and **held** in captivity_

**Author** : _Charlie Blue_

**Disclaimer :** _What J.K Rowling created is hers, what various other pop-culture or historic arts + events may have inspired parts of this story also belong to their creators. Everything else is mine._

**Warning : **_ Yes, this story does contain slash. (gasp!) It also contains violence, amoral behaviour, harsh language, drug use and (stage-whispers) _sex!

**Note: **Okay, I've been a slapdash girl, and made a mistake. coughcough Okay, okay, I've made the same mistake three times over. Apparently I keep changing the name of the Boy Who Lived. Hey, it happens, I get too caught up in what I'm reading to pay attention to something that was a minor detail at the time. I meant, and always have meant, for the name to be 'Adam'. Sorry peeps.

Oh, and one other thing. Keep reading, no matter what you think I'm doing to the characters in some of the scenes. Things aren't what they seem.

**-----------------**

**Lady's Domain, The Convalescence Wing.**

"What are you going to do?"

Tobias propped one hip on the edge of the bed, examining the young girl lying swathed in white hospital sheets. She was so thin; a wraith curled up on one side, engulfed by the large, fluffy doona.

He stroked her fair hair softly, trying to remember how old she was. Thirteen? Fourteen? She seemed so young. The stormy, dark purple bruises that had coloured her face had faded to a sickly yellow, but she still wasn't lying on her back, which meant that the lash-wounds hadn't healed yet.

They were in the convalescence wing, a removed, tranquil sanctuary that nonetheless was incorporated in the large dimension that held the Lady's domain. It was where those hurt in her name, be it in pleasure, business or violence, came to recuperate, physically or mentally.

She had been nine when he found her the first time, a broken rag doll girl-child lying in a torn dress face down. She had recovered from the rape physically, but had been deeply affected mentally. She enjoyed the more painful pleasures of the bedroom, and after completing the very serious tests that the Lady had created, of psychoanalysis, mental health and deep counselling, had been given permission to start whoring.

She had, and had never looked back, happy in herself and the life she now had. She certainly didn't lack for friends, admirers or lovers in this world, where violent sex was only a scratch on the surface of the depths of debauchery to which it could sink.

He shrugged indifferently, the memory setting his teeth on edge. "Nothing. Why should I?"

She looked on him with something like pity, and he hated her for it.

"No matter how cold you go Tobias, I've always known, and you've told me yourself, how much you craved knowing your true family."

He threw a defiant look. "Those sanctimonious bastards had no idea who they were asking for."

He hadn't said that to her, and he didn't elaborate, and Amelia wished he would, for just once in the _entire_ time she had known him. She heard the disgust in his voice, and the pain. He didn't trust her, didn't trust the love she felt for him, had never trusted any emotion from anyone. She scowled, and looked down at the pillow, curling closer, wincing as she pulled at one of the healing cuts on her back.

He had turned inwards, and she plied him with soft questions, trying to draw the bare teeth of what he felt out of him.

His eyes snapped, and she shrank back at the feral, feline gleam in those bright eyes.

"_How dare they?"_ He whispered, eyes burning into her, but seeing something different all together.

Then he was gone, the door to the ward banging back from the wall to slam shut, his coat flickering around the corner.

-----------------

**Unknown Location.**

"They won't let be, you know that don't you?" She inquired, cigarette smoking softly from between her fingers as she leant forwards, leaning her elbows on the table, and regarding him coolly over the top of her dangling hands.

"Mm-hm."

Frustrated, she glared at him, his head lying sideways on the table, pillowed by his elbow, examining the light playing through the dark red wine in his goblet as he absently toyed with the stem with his long, elegant fingers.

She opened her mouth, thought for a moment, the closed it again, and narrowed her eyes. He looked faintly amused, despite the fact that his eyes had never left the goblet.

"What are you planning, Lord? Why the game?" Her voice was barbed wire wrapped in silk threads.

He shifted his head so his chin was resting on his arm, and Lord Voldemort gazed at her out of those blue eyes.

She swallowed, but lifted her chin, and he admired the carriage her magnificent head, the golden curls falling from her upswept hair in elegant wisps.

Abruptly, he unfolded, standing and turning in one fluid motion, moving away, towards the door.

He looked over his shoulder. She had not moved an inch, only her eyes changed, coolly following him across the room from her tilted head.

"So let them have him." He said, black velvet in his voice, and inclined his head for moment.

"Lady."

Then he was gone.

----------------------

**Hogwarts', The Sanctuary Wing, Assembly Chamber**

The Assembly Chamber rippled with discontent as the woman standing in the centre of the room continued her diatribe.

It was a massive, circular chamber, with an arched, vaulted roof that had been painted by a forgotten artist, centuries ago, to portray the mythical closing of the faery realm from the world. Cracked and faded, it nevertheless was breathtaking. Painted in forgotten ways, lost methods, it shone with an inner ambience that none of the magical, moving, half-living art of the modern magical world could ever achieve.

In the centre of the marble floor was a podium, where one could address the collective assembly, which sat around, in tiered layers, moving outwards as they grew higher, each representative or group having a separate balcony, each of which had a door which opened out into the many corridors that riddled the walls of the ancient place.

Aides and attendants constantly traversed those hallways, running messages between balconies, sending bribes, spying, carrying gifts, offering support, bringing urgent news from the outside world.

Daniel Narholden accepted a small envelope off a silver tray, his eyes firmly focused on the lady on the podium. She was an ambassador from on of the many countries of the United States. Unlike their muggle counterparts, the wizarding society of the USA had remained a purely diplomatic one after gaining their independence from the British. Their development and research facilities focused on the exploration of magic to create innovations that had propelled the wizarding world into the new century, but had never explored the more violent facet of those innovations.

This one, however, this lady was causing unrest with her radical proposals for an immediate aggressive policy, to instigate world-wide 'purge', to hunt out any with connections to Lord Voldemort, any pro-dark magic, pro-pureblood families or workers in the ministry, and leave a clean slate, where there would be no-one who the Dark Lord could turn to his cause in positions of any power.

Daniel smirked for a moment, and decided to ruffle a few more feathers, just to make sure such a disastrously un-thought-out plan would never come to fruition in any form.

He stood, and rung the bell provided to indicate he would like to speak. The Chairman looked at him, and gave his consent.

Daniel nodded courteously, then stood on his balcony, pitching his voice with subtle use of the _sonorous_ charm.

"Lady McKenzie." He began, resting his hands on the balustrade, and his eyes flared before he continued with a dark, insinuating voice. "You propose a witch hunt?"

The uproar, especially from the older, more experienced and traditional witches and wizards, has breathtaking. Most damned of all things in magical history, the witch-hunts were the parallel to the muggles' Holocaust.

Daniel settled back down, satisfied that now that the proposal had been branded with such a name, it would never be truly considered, and most definitely not unanimously, or in a majority.

He looked around. Many countries, provinces, or even influential families who had been invited had, as of yet, neither accepted nor declined the invitation to join the assembly. They were waiting, playing the fence game for now. So there was always a slow trickle of arriving delegations and families each day.

The past few days, no new delegation had arrived, and the assembly was going around in circles, and half the boxes of those delegations already here were empty anyway. Yawning, Daniel slipped away, intent on finding a brandy, bed, and a specific old book he had heard of that the library was said to hold a copy of.

And not necessarily in that order.

--------------------

**Diagon Alley**

Bellatrix and Rodolphus strolled down the old cobblestone boulevard of Diagon Alley, she in a fine robe of soft silken reds that clung to curves and floated in the breeze, mingling with her dark curls, and he in black slacks, a white shirt with the first few buttons undone, revealing the beginning of a tanned, muscular chest, with a cloak falling off his broad shoulders.

They walked arm in arm, laughing and chatting, seemingly unaware of the effect they had on the other people in the alley. Known to be two of the darkest, most deadly supporters of the Dark Lord, yet untouchable by the law in any way since they had been released from Azkaban, sanity intact, five years ago, and scions of the arguably most powerful house in Wizarding Britain, normal, good-doing citizens, were, quite rightly, quietly terrified of them.

-----------------------

**The Slums, London.**

Tobias slipped out from that world, into the darkness, feet wandering, mind sprinting far away, as far as he could go. The moon was a sliver tonight; nothing gleamed but the dirty, broken streetlights that illuminated nothing but slums and broken homes.

Nothing moved, drenched in the stillness of despair, held captive by the laws of money and humanity. And he walked among them, a silent, dark phantom amidst beggars and street children in the dead of night, through deserted buildings and shattered places of the mind and memory.

Pain could not bring him back, loyalty did no exist, love was lies and smoke and mirrors, and gratitude held no value in this world. But danger could.

His mind snapped back to the world a moment after his body. His nerves sang and his muscles were taught, the meandering pace had become a brisk walk. Nothing moved; and everything screamed peril.

A skittering noise to his left, down an alley, and light touch to his senses, something glided across his magic, leaving shivers in its wake. His speed increased, hands slipped out if pockets, green eyes wide with something unlike to fear, and closer to a dangerous mind working with deadly intent.

A definite presence, no two or three, he could feel them, flanking him as he moved, and more ahead. He broke into a light jog, and felt automatically for the low-slung guns on his hips, and then cursed himself for not thinking to bring them.

Mind flashing, and he was counting enemies who had been provoked, but it was pointless, even he couldn't know who the Lady was playing for and against in the upper echelons of society.

Closer now, breaking point, that cresting wave in the air around him, was about to rupture. He broke into a ground-eating sprint, arms crossing his body at the waist, hands sliding around his hips.

And suddenly, they were there, seven figures all told, four forming a semi-circle in front of him, two flanking him, and one waiting behind. He cursed as he felt the interwoven magic around them that said they had already built shields. _Professionals, then._

He halted abruptly, leaping back from his front, running foot onto the back one, hair flying, green eyes wild, and challenged them, arms sliding up his body making as if to cross his arms.

"Yes?" And despite it all, the mad sprint, the adrenalin flying, the danger surrounding him, promising death at any point, his voice was as honeyed and mellifluous as any courtier's, bored, arrogant, as if bothered by an annoying servant.

Thrown off balance, but retaining their damnably flawless fighting stances, they paused. The centre figure of the semicircle stepped forwards, drawing back his hood.

Tobias raised his eyebrows. That was either a good, or very, very bad indicator. Either they had less violent intentions than he had first assumed, or they didn't care that he saw their faces because he was about to die.

An arrogant smirk played across his face as he lifted his chin and fell back into a proud, open stance.

Frank Longbottom assessed the boy in front of him appraisingly. Fearless, absolutely fearless, he knew the boy standing in front of him would have no misgivings about dying. It was all or nothing with this pup. He almost smiled approvingly, wishing his own boy had more of this one in him, but repressed it. It would have been taken for arrogance.

"Mr Potter, we are here to bring you back to Hogwarts."

That was all it took. One instant the boy was playing the waiting game, asserting his dominance while waiting for more knowledge, the next Frank was reeling back, a silver stiletto imbedded in his chest, as two dark waves of force flung his fighters back. Frozen in shock for a moment at the pure, rough, _power_, he stared blindly as three of his team didn't get back up. Furious with himself for not realising how dangerous this boy truly was, Frank caught his balance. It wasn't a death wound, he could keep fighting; the adrenalin would push him through the stinging, blinding pain, but then he felt the slow, cold seep of poison swept through his limbs and his eyes widened with horror as he stumbled back, falling.

The last thing he saw was another of his fighters, Shacklebolt, slumped against a wall, the same, slim stiletto handle protruding from his gut.

Tobias turned on his toes, a predator, and his eyes sought escape. He ran. Someone chased him. No matter, he knew these streets, he could lose him, or kill him, if need be. He had let loose his mind from the hold he kept it, and it ran free, a deadly force guiding his thoughts and body. No qualms, no fear, nothing but the pure, fierce need to _fight_ everything that sought to hold him.

It was only one chasing him, one, he could confront. He whirled, and facing the wall of the alley, he raised an arm, hand open in a brutal command to halt.

The footsteps slowed, but did not stop, and Tobias raised his head, looking down his arm with ferocious intent.

Severus slowed, but didn't stop moving, his eyes dark, weighing something, feeling the unspoken power that could be called upon to support that silent command. Untrained, misunderstood, rough, violent, feral, and frighteningly powerful.

Wary of the rage that ran free through the boy, that almost inhuman, incontrollable force that he had inherited from the dark line that ran through his mother's veins, but had found fruition in this scion, Severus finally stopped, inches from that upheld hand, that quivering, barely contained body.

He smiled as his eyes met the boy's, and the presence that had snuck up behind him, unnoticed by the boy - who's complete attention was captured by the dark, sophisticated power Severus exuded - struck.

Tobias' world spun, and he crumpled, helpless, vengeful ire running through him like fire, and his sight blurred, the brilliant green eyes fading, his mind already unconscious, looking with unthinking betrayal up at the cool, knowing dark pools that were the dark man's eyes that swam into his vision.

-----------------

**Hogwarts'.**

Severus pulled the floating body through the doors of Hogwarts' main entrance hall, sending it sliding across the hall towards Albus, who waited silently.

Severus stalked past him, flashing him a look of utmost disdain and amused contempt, before tilting his head back towards the open door.

Albus' brow creased, and then rose, as his eyes flickered from the slow procession of broken, injured fighters who stumbled up the stairs and into Hogwarts, to the innocent, sleeping boy at his feet.

He understood Severus' amusement, even as it worried him.

----------------------

**Hogwarts', Private Guest Suite.**

He woke in a very odd set of circumstances. How long had it been since he had spent the night in a bed, let alone an empty one? Weeks, at least.

His eyes closed, his other senses slowly awoke to the world. He started hearing murmured words, too fuzzy to make out, until he heard a name.

"Harry Potter."

Memories returned with a jolt that froze him with apprehension and disbelieving rage. With an effort, he curtailed his anger, pulling it back until it curled in on itself, waiting just below the surface, like a coiled snake. He held back a shuddering breath. It had been a long time since he had lost control of his mind like that. He wouldn't let it happen again, wouldn't show it to these people. It would make them wary of him, and he needed to be able to fool them.

Oh, no, he had no doubts about where he was.

The famed 'Hogwarts.'

A whisper caught his attention. "He's awake."

An indrawn breath.

A question, stifled.

The flicker of an eyelid.

The foretaste of magic coloured the air.

His underworld-trained, treacherously smooth mentality surfaced.

He opened his eyes.

-------------------

**Sahara Desert.**

The colossal, wind-sculpted dunes stretched before them and the desert sun blazed its last before twilight wrested control from the day.

The commandeered, ex-army machine rolled its relentless, erratic way across the landscape, the many protrusions and mismatched technology decorating it flaunting the extensive adjustments and revamping it had gone through. Oddly out of place amidst the bristling weaponry, defence and hi-tech machinery, someone had painted a swathe of fairies, gnomes, trolls, elves and hobgoblins across the original camouflage fuselage.

It was huge, at least two times the height of a man, three metres wide and ten or fifteen metres long.

Two hatches were open, one near the front of the monster of a vehicle, the other further back. Out of the front, a young girl with exotic features leant against the back of the hatch, hands resting lightly on the roof, head tilted back, a pair of vintage, 1920's muggle style aviator goggles dangling from her neck.

Further back a man leant casually, his strong, tanned chest visible through an unbuttoned shirt, his shaggy, long black hair lifted by the wind, a roguish grin playing across a slightly unshaven face, cool, dark sunglasses concealing eyes that openly regarded the girl with speculative curiosity.

She knew he was watching her, and he knew that she knew, and she knew that he knew that she knew.

Music blared from the huge speakers rigged up from both the inside and outside of the vehicle, booming into the dry desert air like so many nuclear missiles.

Down in the cavernous interior, old, mahogany, brass-bound chests lay where they had been carelessly thrown, open and spilling out their contents. A King's ransom of ancient treasures rolled around the enclosed cage where the hoard was being kept, amidst racks of guns and weaponry.

The driver, a dark African-American woman with beads dangling from her hair, looked over her shoulder at the wealth and laughed, throwing her head back, plaits flying, revealing gleaming white teeth, one hand resting protectively over the insulated boxes that held the heads of dead men.

---------------------

**Hogwarts', Private Guest Suite**

The moment he tried to move realized. His hands and feet were bound with magic that he could not feel until he tried to fight it. Oh, how close that deadly, sweet anger came to unleashing itself that instant! But he was too disciplined, with too much at stake now to risk releasing it.

His survival instincts, so long trained and ingrained by living and growing up in the Lady's world, came to the fore. They had made one very serious mistake. They had underestimated him, and because of that he could exploit the one weakness he knew for sure would work. _Love._

He closed his eyes for a moment, tamping down his own natural self, pulling something … _other_ up. Harry, as they wanted him to be.

So he looked up, at his parents, at Albus Dumbledore, his green eyes a world of hurt, screaming accusal of betrayal in every line of his face.

"Why?" He asked, pain and impotent frustration manifest in his voice.

It was James who spoke.

"Because you have to understand. Because you can't ignore a world that will come seeking you. Because if others found you first, you would be being tortured right now to punish us. But most of all, because we have finally found our son."

"So you just decided for _me_ that I wanted parents because _you_ wanted a son?" Tobias replied bitterly, "And because politics might have gotten in the way of your precious, perfect family if I had been found out?" He smiled harshly. "I was happy where I was."

Relieved, but confused by … _Harry's _passiveness – oh yes, he was angry and hurt, but that frightening, powerful rage and arrogance had somehow dissipated – James drew up a chair, sensing that Harry would listen now.

"You _needed_ to come back to the wizarding world. I don't think you know … There is a war coming, a war that's snowballing so fast, we don't think we can keep this one confined to the magicals. The whole _world _will be affected by this, and you, whether you wanted to or not, would have been drawn into it."

Lily moved forwards, her voice following seamlessly from where James had paused. They were in tandem, made harmonious by the common cause.

"Blood sings to blood, Harry, and you have too many enemies purely by way of the blood in your veins, to continue ignorant of your history, and the truth behind the war that will explode into the muggle world not too long from now."

James leaned forwards, intent on the explanation.

"The man who is going to make the war is powerful, too powerful for any human to handle. He is mad, and will kill so many people, so many, in his quest for his new world. He Who Must Not Be Named."

"A revolution." Tobias murmured. Lily and James seemed relieved that he was listening, comprehending, but Albus' head turned sharply, his blue eyes astonished.

"A bloody, inhuman revolution that would tear our world apart." Albus said quietly, moving across to look out the window. Lily's eyes followed him, narrowed for a moment, and then fell back to Harry.

"There was a first war, a terrifying, deadly taste of what would follow, one that we were completely unprepared for, but we were lucky. 16 years ago that dark wizard was vanquished, and the war came to a complete standstill."

"The Boy Who Lived." Tobias said, eyes wondering. He smiled awkwardly at his parents; inwardly happy with the way the pieces of deception were falling into place. "My brother."

They beamed. "Yes." Said James softly, proudly, "Your brother, our sons." He felt a sudden, throbbing pain in his heart at the way the boy stiffened. So much hurt, so much betrayal in his mind. How would he ever trust them again? Already, James' heart swelled with love for his newfound son.

Lily frowned. "How do you know? I thought -."

Tobias turned his head to the side, eyes wide, unseeing, his face grave with memory.

"Oh, I knew about the Wizarding world before, I've always known of it. There are no such lines between humanity in my world."

_My world. _Those words held painful inflection that flew like barbs into the hearts of everyone in the room.

At the window, Albus closed his eyes for a moment in sadness.

James forced a smile. "It seemed like an remarkable place."

Green eyes met hazel. Harry smiled, the first true smile James had seen on his face that wasn't one of feral violence.

"Yes, yes it is."

James forced down the sudden jealousy that flooded his mind.

Inside Harry, Tobias smiled malevolently.

_Almost._

"The world is teetering on the brink of war. Important people are disappearing, more often than not turning up dead, countries are squabbling like cats and dogs over who should fight where and how, already the stench of corruption You-Know-Who was so talented at creating in his wake is sinking the effectiveness and influence of ministries, already common people are being drawn in by his charisma, blind to the madness that consumes him and those who have fallen under his sway. Our children are growing up and becoming a generation drenched in hate and fear and immorality. The war is coming, and we need you here, safe, not open to the dangers that could threaten you."

Albus spoke, and even Tobias halted his inner machinations, captivated, for a moment, by the words of an enlightened, powerful man. Then he hated the man for being able to spin such mesmerizing words. That was all they were, words and strategy. Tobias knew more than they could imagine about the world, about both worlds, and that knowledge was his safeguard. While they believed they could show him a world they thought he knew nothing about through half-truths and certain details, they would not look for other ways to … _persuade _him.

Harry's open, luminous green eyes were fixed on Albus, who had turned to face him, and as the man finished, he saw the boy's eyes gleam with horror for a moment as he finally understood, and finally cease the subtle struggle against the invisible magic that he had created to hold Harry there to at least _listen_ before he decided for himself what he wanted.

And Albus was convinced that, even if the boy still didn't trust them, or what they were telling him, his curiosity had been piqued enough to give Hogwarts, and their world, a chance.

He saw Harry's breath catch. The emotional upheaval, the betrayal of being forcibly taken from everything he'd known, and now the comprehension that he _would _be staying here, combined with the physical entrapment, had almost exhausted him. If he was forced to handle anything more, he might well crack.

"Please." Harry said, and Lily's eyes caught James' in pain at the pleading in the voice of the boy who had so magnificently and terribly raged at them.

He gave an ineffectual tug at the bonds, and closed his eyes, visibly gritting his teeth at being forced to plead. "Let me go." He whispered.

And Albus did, knowing that all Harry had meant in the entreaty were the bonds, nothing more. Silently, he indicated they should leave. Lily paused at the door, looking back. He was staring at her. She swallowed back a flood of tears, and instead smiled shakily.

"I think I love you." She whispered, and his eyes told her he understood.

She turned off the magical lights with a wave of her wand, and as she was closing the door, thought she heard a whispered, "Good night … Lily."

The door closed, and so did her eyes, in pain.

---------------

**Hogwarts', Private Guest Suite**

For twenty minutes, he lay unmoving, listening to the embers of the fire crackle and pop as they died down. Then, abruptly, he tore off the covers and pushed himself off the bed with a ferociously muttered, "Finally!"

There were monitoring spells in the room, he knew, to make sure he didn't attempt anything … _foolish._ He had been taught to sense them, and knew too that while he couldn't disable them without alerting whoever it was that laid them, he could lay a psychic blanket over them for long enough, something that would make it seem as though there was, quite simply, nothing happening.

Spells cast by powerful people tended to intelligent, in their own way, imbued with enough of the caster's imprint to gain initiative. If the spell was blanketed, it sensed nothing, and so assumed nothing was happening, thus projecting the idea that everything was remaining the same wherever it was monitoring.

He wasn't prepared to try the door yet; he couldn't be sure what he would find on the other side, be it guards, more spells he couldn't sense, or a labyrinth of passages.

He crossed silently to the window, mouth curling in a snarl at the lingering feel of Dumbledore's magic print around it. It wasn't the kind of window that could be opened, but that didn't matter. He pulled back a fist, ready to vent his rage, even in that small way, and paused. No, he couldn't afford a wound, not now.

Crossing to the bed, he swiftly grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around his hand.

The window tumbled silent to the carpeted in shattered pieces. It was freezing cold as the cold, handsome young man pushed himself out the window, crouching on the sill like a demonic gargoyle of the castle come to life, his dark hair whipping in the wind.

It was getting closer to dawn, and the land was covered with that creeping, ghostly light that came before the rising of the sun, where everything was still dark, but touched with an otherworldly visibility. Narrowing his eyes against the darkness, he smiled.

He was on the western side of the castle, a sheer wall that fell many stories to the ground, but once he reached the ground, it was open ground, with no more gates or impediments. Looking further, he saw the lights of a small village. A cold smile. If it was wizarding, floo would be his escape, if muggle, he could easily steal a car or contact Thomas, whichever first came to him.

The second reason was that the wall had originated as part of the original battlements. It was covered with spokes that had hung flags in days of old, and old, fearsome gargoyles and statues to send fear into the hearts of medieval enemies.

Easy.

When he'd been young he'd learnt early to use all the tools at his disposal, no matter how unconventional.

He looked down at the sheet still dangling from his wrist, fluttering like a helpless wraith against the ancient stone walls of Hogwarts.

Then he jumped.

----------------------

**Hogwarts', Western Corridors.**

Severus paused, looked at the door for the sixth time, and continued pacing the hallway.

He was suspicious. The monitoring spells were registering nothing, and while that usually would have been very good under the circumstances, someone with this boy's temperament should not have been able to remain passive in this kind of a situation.

Finally, he growled to himself, and eased open the door in one fluid motion. They had left it unlocked so that if Harry had tried to get out, he wouldn't find himself trapped, but rather face to face with Severus.

He was almost bowled over by the force of the pent up wind that came howling through the door; released from the building pressure of the closed room. Recovering, he stared for a moment at the shattered window, the upturned bed, then turned and ran.

He burst into Albus' office, knowing the man had hardly slept a full night for weeks now, ignoring the startled looks on the Potter's faces as he stalked up to the desk.

"He's gone."

Severus was startled by the unguarded look of shock that suffused Albus' features. Surely he had considered the fact that the boy would try to escape!

"How?" It was Lily who spoke, rising dangerously. Severus threw a look over his shoulder, impatient.

"The window."

She was gone in seconds, disappearing down the spiralled staircase. James stayed a minute longer.

"How long?"

Severus turned and sneered. "Could have been any time from the time you left."  
James' face twisted. "And your monitoring spells?" He spat. "Did you even bother?"

Severus' eyes flared.

"Of course I did you idiot! He fooled them somehow!"

James was already turning and running after his wife.

"Severus." It wasn't a question.

Severus turned and nodded silently before stalking after Lily and James at a much more sedate pace, robes billowing.

He reached the entrance hall, and saw two flying specks racing towards Hogsmeade, one farther ahead than the other. He scowled and sent a tracer thread with his wand. Now that he had met the boy, it was easy to concentrate on that distinctive magical signature.

It zoomed off in the direction of Hogsmeade. Severus scowled; at least the two were thinking. He summoned his own broomstick, and pushed off the ground smoothly, dark eyes shining in the growing pre-dawn light.

---------------

**Western Battlements, Hogwarts' Castle.**

He had fallen 25 feet, one end of the sheet grasped in each hand, the cloth rippling above him, till he reached his first target, one of the spokes jutting out of the wall.

If he had tried to grab it while falling at this speed, he could have dislocated an arm. Instead he angled himself so that the sheet hooked on the thing, bringing him to a jolting, painful halt.

He hung, swinging for a moment, arms stretched to their limit, eyes wide, breath coming wild and hard, the world spinning with adrenalin and gut-wrenching dread.

A moment was all the respite he allowed himself. Letting go of one edge of the sheet, he plummeted again. It took him precious seconds to pull down the sheet to his body as he was falling, to slide his hand from the side he still grasped across to find the other edge, and to finally let the cloth snap back up again.

He looked down, and fear cut him, shattering his thoughts with panic as he realised. _He had misjudged._

He was tumbling towards the ground faster than he could have realised.

He would hit in maybe five seconds.

There were three more lines of spokes, the last just ten feet off the ground. If he tried for one of the higher, closer ones, he would have more chance of grabbing another before he hit the ground.

The wind rushed past his face, and he couldn't breath anymore, the stones were flashing past too fast to even judge anymore, and panic and adrenalin clouded his mind.

_All or nothing._

The old lesson, one of the first, cut through his mind with frightening intensity, clearing his head enough for one, single objective.

He angled for the last line, yanking down on the sheet with his left arm.

He thought for a nanosecond he had missed. Then that awful, jolting wrench on his body hit, and the world stilled around him.

He didn't dare stop.

It looked like one hell of a long drop, but his usual, hellion self surfaced once more, taking the place of that yawning hole of panic. He had seen, and done, much worse.

He dropped, tucking and rolling as he landed, easily rolling to his feet, jumping a couple of times out of pure exuberance as he looked back up.

He almost gave a little jig. _Funfunfun._

Then he turned and ran, away from the rising sun.

------------------------

**Hogwarts' Land, somewhere between Hogwarts' Castle and Hogsmeade Village.**

She came up on him hard and fast, a swooping menace he sensed an instant before he threw himself sideways to avoid the jet of red light that would have slammed into his back. He bounded to his feet, never stopping the forward motion, pushing his body hard, and sprinting so fast the wind whipped past his face in the morning twilight.

She came down, low again, and this time he dodged the other way, _towards_, her, he saw her eyes widen for a moment before he snarled and threw a brutal punch before she could swerve away. She tumbled off the broomstick, red hair flying around a strangely peaceful, unconscious face, and then she was gone, falling behind him as he sprinted.

The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds.

James saw Lily, far below and in front of him, tumble from her broom, saw the dark figure of his son sprinting away, and made a split-second, battle-field trained decision. He flattened himself against the broomstick, and zoomed forwards, descending so he would come up straight behind the boy.

Tobias smirked. Lily's attack had tipped him off, and they were stupid, all coming up one by one, and all on broomsticks. _Too_ stupid.

An instant before the one behind him came into touching distance, he flung himself backwards, colliding with the flying figure, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

He landed on top of his father, face to face, breathing hard. His green eyes sparkled ferally.

"Hey daddy." He whispered snapping his teeth together an inch away from the man's face.

James threw Tobias off him, and the boy rolled smoothly, coming to his feet in a dangerous, predatory crouch, his eyes frighteningly incensed; madly so.

He darted forwards, bounding back, and spinning forwards the other way, arms akimbo.

"Gonna catch me? Huh, _dad_?" He teased contemptuously.

James stepped lightly back and to the side, avoiding the lazy, swiping moves with growing horror as he realized just what his son truly was like.

"All an act, huh, Harry?" He growled, eyes intent on the movements, wands held out, ready to retaliate if he decided to launch a serious attack.

"That's right, _daddy_, how smart of you." Teeth flashed in the fading darkness. "You didn't seriously think I'd buy your worried parental love act, huh?"

"Actually –" That was all he got out before a brutal, immense, sadistic wave of power shoved him backwards, and Tobias was on top of him, delivering a swift, stunning punch to the temples and wrenching his wand out of his grasp before leaping back from the man, cruelly snapping the wand and tossing the pieces aside.

James gasped and doubled over, the shocking, sharp pain of the punch combined with the mental panic that came with the breaking of such a magical bond, disabling him for a moment, and thanked whatever gods there were that he hadn't brought his primary wand.

That was all Tobias needed. He moved forwards again, quick as a darting viper, sending a spinning kick slamming into his father's head, and delivering a second kick with the same leg into the gut, just for good measure, and a little bit of fun.

He looked down at the unconscious form of the man; fists clenched, eyes on fire, and spat.

"That wasn't very nice."

The dark, silky, smooth voice came with the first crack of golden sunlight that flooded the land.

Snape moved carefully, stalking out into the boy's view from the copse of trees where he had watched the … _interaction _with growing interest.

The boy spun, feline and perilous, and when his eyes landed on Severus, they reflected intense dislike, but something else as well: curiosity.

"You." The word was an insolent drawl; and Severus' mouth curled into an amused sneer.

No fear at all. Tobias was so sure of his ability to overcome anything that tried to stop him, so sure nothing could stand against any one of his talents of power, wiles and sexuality, and certainly not all three combined, that he would be dangerously alluring to any who was seduced by power of any kind. And in the world of today, that encompassed nearly every living being.

"What do you want from me?" The words were a challenge, a threat, and a simple question that the boy seemed to burn with need for the answer to.

"Me?" Severus murmured, circling closer, watching the boy spin predatorily, never letting his eyes leave him, "nothing. Those I serve? Everything."

Severus saw the snarl forming on the boy's face, the vicious curling of the lip, the furious snap of the eyes, the coiling of his body, the soft, bestial sound emanating from his throat, a moment before he threw himself at Severus.

Casually, elegantly, Severus waved his wand in a fell, swooping gesture, and the boy was knocked back, in mid-air, a vicious slice opening up his chest diagonally.

Severus was prepared for a retaliation the minute Tobias hit the ground, but he wasn't ready for the boy to spin in mid-air even as he flew backwards, extending his arms towards Severus, hands twisted like claws.

That same, dark, psychic power cut through him, not a wave of power, but unpolished, fierce lines that seemed to be as thin as paper, undeflectable, slicing at his mind and magical core as swiftly and painfully as thousands of spiteful, furious paper cuts.

Disbelief at the raw, sadistic power behind the attack coloured Severus' thoughts even as his body automatically reacted, stalking towards the boy, even as he spun and bounded towards him.

They met a clashed, a tangle of lightning-quick, flawlessly trained arcs of ruthless attacks.

If it had only been a question of physical ability, Severus knew he could have had no hope against the beautiful, deadly movements of the boy, but honour could have no place where allegiance ruled him.

Callously, he gathered all his hard-won, lethal mental power, and flung it towards the boy's mind.

The boy's sheer, raw, untrained strength couldn't battle with the insidious, subtle power that flooded his mind.

Severus' own mind was almost overwhelmed by the furious, vain retaliation the boy shoved back at him, the disturbing, horrific memories and emotions whirling through his mind, struggling, he pushed all his power into thrusting the boy from his mind.

It seemed like forever in a moment, but he knew the tangle had taken only a couple of minutes as he came back to the physical world, hands braced on his knees, his eyes staring wonderingly at the crumpled, beautiful, ferocious boy at his feet.

-------------

Well? Comments…? Please?

Charlie Blue. xox


	6. ˚ Smithereens: to shatter harmonies ˚

**THIS IS THE REAL CHAPTER 6. WHAT I UPLOADED WAS A DRAFT, AN ACCIDENT.**

After a week or two, I'll delete the old chapter and fix it up, but this is the only way to let readers know. I am incredibly sorry for the mix-up.

**Title** : _Malignant Objects_

**Chapter :** _Smithereens_

_1. Very small broken pieces_

**Author** : _Charlie Blue_

**Disclaimer :** _What J.K Rowling created is hers, what various other pop-culture or historic arts + events may have inspired parts of this story also belong to their creators. Everything else is mine._

**Warning : **_ Yes, this story does contain slash. (gasp!) It also contains violence, amoral behaviour, harsh language, drug use and (stage-whispers) _sex!

My, my, my. Smutty readers. A single interesting interaction and I have multitudes of reviews begging me not to make this fic SS/HP. Just for information's sake, it's not.

--------------

**Location: **_Hogwarts' Great Hall._

------------

"I believe you have some business to take care of, Severus?"

Albus' tone brooked no argument; it was not a question, but a dismissal. Severus' face went impassive. His eyes wandered to the unconscious Tobias, then to Albus, carefully hiding the suspicions that lurked in his mind. He nodded his head sharply and turned, disappearing into the shadows of the main hallway that lead out of the Great Hall.

Albus looked down at the boy lying in front of him on the cold, flagstone wall, and sighed, fingers steeple against his robe in front of him. Blue eyes grave, he slid his wand out from a voluminous sleeve, and waved it softly in a wide arc, murmuring an incantation.

Tobias rose up slowly, as if an invisible hand had grasped him, his head lolling forwards with his dark hair falling over his face, until he hovered about a metre above the ground, arms stretched out wide on either side of him.

The boy had been wearing no shirt under the long leather coat he had on, a coat that they had stripped off before placing him into the bed. The half-naked, beautiful boy hanging in the air drew disturbing parallels in Albus' mind to the muggles' religious icon of a crucifixion.

Albus closed his eyes for a moment. These actions brought him no joy, but he understood, now, at last, that this boy held no respect or fear for any of them. If they wanted to keep Harry they, or at least he, needed to show him just how powerful he could be.

_So what would hold a boy like this tied to them?_

Albus' eyes snapped open, and he waved his wand in a short, sharp movement, and waited while the boy – Harry – woke up with violent suddenness. One moment he was limp, hanging unmoving in the air, the next, he flung his head back, emerald eyes wide open and blazing fury as his neck arched with his back against the magic holding his arms, dangerously close to breaking point, his body quivering like plucked harp string.

_So entrapment is what you fear and despise the most._

_  
_Even before he spoke, Albus felt something, a tiny niggling in his magic that surrounded Harry, something off; something that held immense potential, but yet lay dormant. He wondered if it was the boy's magic, locked behind a mental shield of denial that many wizards created when growing up untrained and ignorant in a muggle world. He had seen it before, but this felt … _different._

"Harry." His voice was low, soft, but imbued with a warning undercurrent of age-old wisdom and power.

It seemed odd that such a word, so softly spoken, could permeate the intensely self-contained rage of the boy, but it did, turning that rage around, till Albus could feel it preparing to blast outwards from the hanging boy.

But when it did, when Harry spoke, it was not with the explosive power of a wizard provoked to blind rage, but cold, cold like a blast of fiery ice whistling from the depths of an ebony chasm.

"_What right do you have to call me by that name?"_

Outwardly unmoved, Albus folded his hands inside his sleeves, and said mildly, "It is yours."

"No, it's yours." The spite in Harry's voice broke the cold fury. "Your name, that you all chose, that you gave to me, then abandoned me _without_."

Albus could have refuted that, could have told Harry that they hadn't abandoned him, they had _lost _him, but he didn't. They had tried that approach, and the boy had played them. This time, no such weaknesses could be shown. Albus moved, began to walk around the floating boy, his eyes never leaving him.

Harry remained silent, offering no opening, no hint of any significant concern or emotion that could be exploited apart from the obvious betrayal he felt towards his family; something which seemed to hold no ties for him.

The silence remained unbroken; Albus' footsteps made no noise. He felt the boy probing the depths of the magic that held him bonded, felt the raw edge of power that was kept barely in check. And still he felt that oddity, somehow removed from Harry, yet seemingly inextricably entwined with him.

Then, for seemingly no reason, Harry spoke.

"You cannot hold me like this forever, old man. Physical power will only get you so far. If you are as determined as you are to hold me to you, you must have realized this. So why play games?"

Albus looked up sharply, something about the phrasing; the almost-hidden tone Harry used bothering him. When he realized what it was, he hardened the doubts within him to steely resolve.

It was hate. Harry hated him now. Would always hate him, with a depth that seemed impossible for so short a time.

There would be no subtle way to hold him to the wizarding world now.

As his eyes swept over the hanging boy once more, a small glitter, the reflection of the dawn sun off something, caught his eye. It was a ring, almost unnoticeable until one looked directly at it, on the ring finger of Harry's right hand.

And with the physical realization of the ring through his eyes, the source of that niggling power suddenly bloomed in Albus' mind. Somehow that _ring _was exuding that strange, alien magical energy. It was so subtle, so … unlike any of the magic he had encountered before, that he doubted any less skilled or learned or powerful than him would be able to notice it.

He circled closer, observing the way Harry clenched his fists and pulled, eyes darkening with an unsteady mix of impotent frustration and denial as he saw at what Albus' eyes were looking.

As he drew closer, Albus felt a dark, gathering storm, growing and propagating on a level below that of consciousness or humanity. Yet still he moved forwards. He wasn't thinking of exploitation when he reached up a hand, mesmerized by the shining light reflected from the ring, wasn't thinking of binding ties or blackmail as his hand closed around Harry's, as if drawn by an irresistible magnetic force, and wasn't expecting the ring to slide off as simply as if it had been a normal ring.

Frowning, he looked at the band lying in the centre of his palm, then gasped silently, as if from sudden pain, and his eyes shot back up to Harry, his senses singing with the effect of a snapping magical bond.

-------------

Tobias' eyes widened, blind to the world, swimming in tears of incomprehension. Somewhere deep inside his core, something snapped, fell out of place.

There, hovering in the centre of the air, he curled up around himself, arms still outstretched, his chest heaving in desperate breaths as his mind plunged to depths below unconsciousness.

_Oh yes, the ring had been taken off before. But not like this. Never like this. Never had he been forcibly separated, never had this tie been broken so unwillingly, never before in his short life had such a shattering of trust for such an unknown and incomprehensible reason occurred._

And around them, around this tableau; the old man staring at a band of simple metal, and the crucified boy, shadows slunk, unseen and unknown to mortals, materializing from the blare of undetectable magic. Among them a woman walked, singing an unholy dirge of inevitable suffering.

_A boy, a beautiful boy, wandering gardens of broken nails and tumbling weeds. Such were the fey, seductive beings, as a dance of tempting delights and white horses. Eyes wide he followed, climbing ever higher from the planes of mortality, a child stolen from time and space. A desperate screeching, a broken trumpet, and he was plummeting. Fallen in the centre of a road, a black limousine halted inches from his grazed and bleeding body._

_A woman, golden curls tumbling around a beautiful face, stumbled out of the back door of the immense car. She saw the boy. She took the boy with her. _

_And from that day on, the ring gifted to the boy had remained with him, while the memory of the day became lost in the mists of memory._

Somewhere inside Tobias, a dark menace, black as fury, powerful and beautiful as all the thorns of a black rose, the arrogance of a prince who has known the pride of Gods, curled in on itself, hidden in the deepest recesses of the soul, broken from the self it should have formed.

It should have burnt itself out, should have been lost without the inextricable connection to the self.

But it did not. Coiled and furious, the blackness, that integral part of the boy that had been severed when the deep, alien connection had, it sacrificed its own independence and power simply to remain inside the core of the boy.

And in the world, the mortal fabric of the Great Hall, the dark shadows fled, and the woman screamed silently as they imploded back into wherever they had blasted from, and Tobias, hanging from the air, collapsed, held up only by the binding power that held his arms strung out against the air.

Albus looked up from the ring, disturbed, finally, by the sudden, shocking change in the magical signature exuded by the boy.

He had lost the defiance, that pure, fighting, darkness that had pushed him.

He looked back down at the ring.

_So this is how you will be controlled, Harry._

--------------

**Location: **_Thomas Grey's Study._

-----------------

"Where the _fuck _is Tobias?"

Thomas Grey paused a moment, then turned to face the irate man who had just burst into his study. No denizen of the Lady's domain would have dared enter this room without explicit permission, and any not of it who had would usually have found themselves quietly and ruthlessly removed, more often than not to an unmarked grave.

But not this man. The vampires were volatile, dangerously unpredictable and predatory, and the older ones, like this one, could destroy Thomas as easily as glancing at him.

For some reason or another, the rogue coven lead by this vampire had taken an interest in Tobias very early on, almost as soon as he had arrived in the underground world.

"Lord Marc." Thomas said, affording the vampire the same title given to the rulers of acknowledged covens.

The vampire paused in his potently powerful pacing long enough to flash Thomas a dark look, then continued.

Thomas took an imperceptible breath, not knowing how the vampire would react, for their emotions were not as humans' were, then continued, knowing truth must be told, for the vampire Lord had his own ways of finding out what he wanted to know, and if Marc found that Thomas had lied, he would arouse his ire.

And the ire of something of a race as infamous yet deeply incomprehensible race as the vampires was something to be avoided.

"Tobias has been taken to Hogwarts'."

For a moment, Marc stopped moving, his eyes flickering as he assimilated that sentence. _Taken_, not_ gone._

"Then they have found the boy out." His voice rolled, dark and gravelly, filling the air with a dark, growling, yet alluring ambience.

He saw the mortal's expression flicker for a moment as if the man had been thrown off.

"Yes, I knew who the boy was, man, and I knew he could not live his life, being who he was, as he had been, as simply a talented whore. So why not give him the small time he had to live his life as he wished before they came for him?"

Thomas reeled inwardly. Other than him – and he had only been told a few weeks ago - he knew of only thirteen people who had known of Tobias' true identity. Not only that, but he instinctively rebelled at the words of the vampire. Tobias would not live out the rest of his life according to the wishes of those others simply because of this!

He opened his mouth to speak, and blinked. The study was empty.

-------------------

**Location: **_Sahara Desert._

-----------------

Two men stood on the hard, cracked earth off the desert, the warm, rich tones of golden sand highlighting the pure starkness of the place. One, the older, stood erect, hands clasped behind his back, the leathery, sun-tanned skin around his eyes crinkled as he watched the large vehicle, still just a black speck against the rolling dunes. The other stood less at ease, still sweating in the fading heat of the early evening.

"Is it really safe, sir, requesting … _him _to personally deliver the cargo?"

The older man grinned, a wolfish lean grin, his eyes never leaving the growing speck.

"Here's a piece of advice, son, do something every day that scares you."

After a minute of growing silence, he spoke again.

"Of course Sirius Black is a threat, but to let the myth of him influence the knowledge that he is only a man, and an outlaw at that, is to let your fear do the talking for you when you are confronted with him, and he will sense that, and, like a dog, his own power will grow."

The vehicle was close now; close enough to see the graffiti sprayed across its fuselage.

The older man turned, and nodded to the pilot of his helicopter, and heard the sounds that indicated the machine was starting up. The exchange should only take one minute, two at the most, and he had no desire to remain around the man, for no matter what he had said, tempting fate around the infamously mad man was not something he wished to do. He wanted to go home to have dinner with his wife, not get sent back in pieces.

The roaring growl of the engine of Black's monster of a truck mixed with the steadily growing

_Whoomp-whoomp _of the helicopter as it rolled to a halt in front of the two men.

For a moment, nothing happened, then a hatch swung open from the roof of the truck, and a tousled, flame-haired head popped out.

The image was so incongruous, so out of place, it took the man a moment to fully register it. A young, prepubescent girl, with peculiar, intense features that would undoubtedly grow into exotic beauty, with a pair of old aviator goggled perched around her head, pulled herself out of the hatch, and monkey climbed down the side of the truck to land, cat-like, on the ground. She wore a simple white singlet, with a pair of miniscule shorts hooked over with a pair of bright purple braces.

Her dark eyes examined the two men, then, with the insolent, pouty awkwardness of those her age, walked back to the truck and, dwarfed by the huge machine, banged on a section of it with a tiny fist.

Slowly, silently, a whole section was lowered, creating a ramp wide enough to drive a normal-sized car up into the cavernous interior.

The girl hovered, looking expectantly towards the ramp.

Then Sirius Black walked out. He moved lightly down the ramp, almost dancing, eyes alight with amusement, grinning recklessly, as if this wasn't a highly illegal, potentially fatal meeting.

Standing in the huge interior of the vehicle, hidden from view, one of his men watched him, covering his leader at all times with an odd, yet dangerous looking gun. Mark grinned, watching the man. Three years working with him, and he still couldn't decide whether Black was brilliant, or just plain mad.

It was highly unlike him to deliver cargo in person, or to have face-to-face dealings with a customer, the man was just too arrogant to bother with the men he worked for, and seemed to enjoy insulting the very men who made him rich.

The man was actually _strutting _towards the General of the most powerful private army in the world.

Black reached the man and halted sharply three feet away, snapping up into a mocking salute.

"General Cummings!" He announced, his blue eyes unsettling in their madcap, fatalistic, devil-may-care glitter.

The older man nodded, doffing his military cap, and eyeing the man incredulously. This was the feared mercenary, the most talented contactable assassin on the black market?

"Mr Black, I presume. Do you have the cargo?"

"Aye, aye sir." Without removing those eyes from the men, Sirius flicked a hand behind him, at the truck, and seconds later two men emerged, carrying a dark trunk between them.

They set it down between the General and Sirius, and at a slight tilt of the head from Sirius, lifted away the lid.

Three heads, perfectly preserved by the magic, stared unseeingly upwards at the two men. The General sensed his companion restrain the urge to gag and move away. He refrained from showing his contempt for the young lieutenant, and hunkered down, withdrawing a small, intricate device.

After a moment of whirring and beeping, he rose, slightly discomforted by the way the hardened, unreadable eyes of the mercenaries stared down at him. The heads were those of wizarding scientists, who had been working in a top-secret government facility melding magic and weaponry. They had sold the new breakthroughs, so secret they were still the only men to know of them; to the man Cummings worked for, and had then been killed to keep that secret.

"Payment?" Black inquired, the British-accent cold and threatening where before it had been that of an amused, slightly mad mate from a pub.

"Of course." Cummings withdrew a small paper envelope from his pocket, and held it out.

The mercenary didn't take it, his eyes dark as he stood unmoving, hands in his pockets for so long that Cummings' confidence in the success of the exchange began to waver.

The man to Sirius' right spoke in an Irish brogue.

"There was a … _complication_."

The third man spoke.

"We need more." He tilted his head towards the helicopter. "We want one o' those."

Cummings raised silvery eyebrows. "The payment was agreed upon and the contract signed three weeks ago." Though his tone was mild, there was nothing compliant about his manner.

Not only was paying more out of the question – he would not acquiesce to the demands of criminals, but what they asked was astounding in its audacity.

The helicopter was the latest innovation of his team, sleek and deadly, it was the fastest, most highly developed attack helicopter in the world, enhanced by the intricate power of the mechanical magics team. The cost of just one was huge, and only three existed in the world.

After a moment, he levelled his eyes on Black, and simply stated, in a voice that caused men to respond with unthinking obedience and intimidation in men: "No."

Then Sirius Black stepped forwards and finally revealed what made him one of the most feared men in the world.

"You didn't tell me about the French alliance. I lost one of my men."

Black hadn't moved, hadn't made any threat, yet somehow Cummings' knew that unless he made the exact right move, the right decision, this man was going to kill him in seconds.

He narrowed his eyes and folded tanned, powerful arms. "That was classified information."

Black grinned wolfishly; a grin that sent chills down Cummings' spine. "So is what I now know about you and your little set-up."

Cummings' eyes narrowed as he thought furiously. If he made the wrong move now, in any way, he was a dead man. If Black didn't kill him, the boss would.

At times, discretion was the greater part of valour. The boss would understand. The sacrifice would be worth its weight in gold for the secrecy it would buy.

"I'll get you the helicopter."

---------------

General Cummings watched Sirius Black's vehicle roll away.

It had been years since he had faced a man he knew without a doubt to be his equal.

But rest assured, the next time he met Sirius Black, the assassin would regret ever dealing with the General.

-----------------

**Location: **_Dumbledore's Private Chambers._

_-----------------_

As Tobias awoke, he felt a searing sense of loss deep in his gut, one that made him feel sick to his stomach,

and an oddly fuzzy feeling in his mind, as if teetering on the edge of oblivion. He rolled over amidst the sumptuous red sheets and cushions of the bed, curling up, his every muscle aching as if they had been pulled taut far beyond their ability to go.

Something was … _gone_, as if vanished deep inside, entrapped, never to be released again, as if he had lost something of his very essence, that he would never be, _could _never be who he had been.

Then he saw Dumbledore, standing tall and grave in the soft, warm firelight of a bedchamber, toying with a small ring of gold.

Memory that harsh, cruel thing came tearing back into him.

And with that memory came a terrible rage. Except that now, with what had been broken, he cringed back from that rage, could not bear it, knew that should he allow himself to be all that he had been, it would push him over the edge into insanity.

So he danced back from that rage and power, in loathing for himself, and in despair.

Dumbledore turned, realizing he was awake. And now, when he looked upon the man, he felt a hate that made him sick to his stomach, all the more so because he knew that he would do whatever this man wanted, so long as any hope of recovering what had been taken remained in his hands.

Even in the midst of his despair and brokenness, Tobias hoped, in fierce, inevitable faith, that there was chance, always a chance. And because Dumbledore held that fragile hope in his withered hands, Tobias feared him.

And that fear of another living being, once so alien and despicable to him, now came as naturally as breathing.

---------------------

When Harry spoke, Albus was shocked at the cracked, stark, rawness of a voice that had once been as rough velvet.

"What do you want?"

Not the challenge it once had been, now the boy surrendered himself to Albus' will. It was a heady thing, to know that such a being, one so powerful and beautiful, had submitted to your will completely and utterly.

Albus was thankful that he had learned long ago how little such a thing meant.

Lying half-naked underneath Albus' own velvet coverlet, Harry seemed so young, so vulnerable; two words Albus would never have thought to put into the same sentence as Harry's name from the first moment he saw the boy in that ruthless fight.

Albus hardened his innate softness for weak, vulnerable beings, knowing that there was only one thing that had made Harry so, and should the ring ever be restored; there would be nothing anyone of them could do to restrain the boy.

At least that was what he had surmised. Yet the pure power of the magical backlash from the breaking of that mysterious bond with the ring had been so powerful, and now revealed how strong a effect it had had on the boy, that Albus was beginning to doubt anything could restore the boy to his godlike pride and arrogance, to that innate power and raw sexuality he had once exuded.

It was not unheard of, having such a deep bond with a talisman, or a significant, powerful magical object. Only usually that object needed to have some higher value, represent something much greater than the physical. Yet Albus, in the rudimentary probing he had had the time for, had sensed no such thing.

His piercing blue eyes hardened like ice, Albus spoke.

"You will remain at Hogwarts' and remain until you have been educated in magic and passed both O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts. You will obey my direct orders, no matter what, and respect both your peers and professors, which includes your parents and brother. You will not attempt to run away. If you do these things, I swear I will return this –" He held up the softly glimmering ring of gold, "to you upon your graduation."

Despite his determination, Albus was disturbed by the passive way Harry was accepting his terms. He lay there, bright green eyes wide and limpid, his face pale ivory against the shock of jet-black hair.

Then those eyes closed, and he spoke, softly, almost as if afraid of his own words.

"I will do these things you ask, but you must swear to me one thing." His face didn't move, but the hand lying by his face curled and tightened on the folds of velvet.

"You will not examine it. No probing, no experimentation, no altering, nothing whatsoever. You will not even touch it unless necessary until you return it to me."

Shocked, Albus almost refused straight out. The ring was obviously of some value, and the alien, mysterious magic he had sensed was a tantalizing temptation he could not wait to untangle. Then he saw the way Harry was trembling – a fine tremor throughout his body that betrayed his anxiety, the desperation of the request.

If Harry had no reassurance that this thing that he seemed to need so deeply would not be returned intact and unchanged, he might very well be driven to a kind of madness.

So Albus agreed. After all, he had what he had wanted. Harry. Perhaps weak, and at his most vulnerable and basic, but still, it was Harry. Not the Tobias of the Lady.

He feared what would come should Harry mend the magical bond that, when it had torn, had torn through his own power and confidence, his essence, and become what he had been before.

---------------

Harry's clenched fingers trembled for an instant, then fell loosely against the sheets of the man who now controlled him.

---------------

---------------

**---------------**

**A/N : **

_Beloved readers, this is called plot. Please don't flame me!_

_I would really like to here your comments and suggestions for this chapter and the story in general._

_**How long does it take to write down one or two words? 10 seconds? 10 seconds that mean an incredible lot to me. **_

_On another note, I've gone over the first chapter, and cleaned it up again, so hopefully it is now easier to read. If any of you feel like going and checking it out, and telling me whether it's better, or what I could do, because I know the format was very confusing to a lot of readers._

_Thanks to all my readers._

_Charlie xox._


	7. Ω Rotten: corruption of Them Ω

**Title**: _Malignant Objects_

**Chapter:** _Rotten (in the state of Denmark)_

_Source: Shakespeare's Hamlet._

**Author**: _Charlie Blue_

**Disclaimer:** _What J.K Rowling created is hers, what various other pop-culture or historic arts + events may have inspired parts of this story also belong to their creators. Everything else is mine._

**Warning: **_ Yes, this story does contain slash. (gasp!) It also contains violence, amoral behaviour, harsh language, drug use and (stage-whispers) _sex!

Yes, I know it's been an absurdly long time since I last updated, and, to all my readers, I deeply apologize.

I hope this makes up for it.

_Fables of the Golden Age - Comments on Prehistory Earth_

_Gateways to folly were closed in times that span immeasurable horizons, and yet it is to one of those far places we must venture in order to unlock what this world has lost from creation since we gained rational thought. Of the beauty there only remains golden leaves of random scribbling. The key to the Fae is not in the making – it is made, and it exists. The painting of the gates is the last vestige of that world._

**Flashback – Lord Marcus.**

The first time Marcus had seen Tobias, the boy had been about six years old, a dark-haired, beautiful little hellion, running through the Lady's halls, chasing another young boy, shrieking with glee. Dressed in a loose white shirt, half-untucked and simple black pants, the boy was clearly an escapee from some class or party somewhere.

The boy had skidded to a stop 10 feet away from the vampire, and was still for moment, his eyes curious, head cocked lightly to one side, his being radiating only a shadow of the dangerous darkness that would come to dominate his character as he grew older.

From the moment Marcus had casually glanced into the boy's eyes, he'd been caught in his web. The boy entranced people without trying, and his wary innocence made him all the more alluring.

The next time Marcus had seen the boy was seven years later, but he recognised him immediately. It was at a dinner party, hosted by the Lady, with a rather … _eclectic _guest list. The young boy had been serving the table, along with other, beautiful children around his age, no doubt to whet the sexual appetite of the highly influential guests.

The boy had made eye contact with him from across the room, and now the wary innocence was gone, replaced with something much more intoxicating – a kind of dark, insolent sluttishness, and his striking, emerald eyes had once again drawn Marcus to him, as no doubt, they drew many others.

They had exchanged a few, murmured words during that night, and though Marcus could not place his finger on it, there was something else about the boy, a certain _otherness_ that captivated him. Later, others of his coven would agree, others just as fascinated by the boy.

Over the next couple of years, their chance meetings had increased; no doubt due to the Lady's scheming. When the boy turned fourteen, Marcus had – _finally_, in Tobias' eyes - arranged an assignation with him. The coven, the members of which had been frequent visitors to the Lady's world for the past years as Marcus' and the Lady's association had grown, had been exceptionally taken with the boy, even without Marcus' prompting.

Tobias had been the sealing point of Marcus and the Lady's agreement. It was the first of the boy's many politically important assignations.

The assignation itself had taken place on a small, curving, torch lit beach, already visited and prepared by the Lady's own people. Because of the ease of portkeys and apparitions, the locations of the coveted assignations of the Lady's had become just as choice as the whores themselves.

_It was not a beautiful night. The sky was dark, the stars covered with black and blue roiling clouds. In the distance, the beginnings of a storm were visible – streaks of bright lightening and the cut of slashing rain. Wind howled around the cove, whipping the wavelets into a frothing turmoil._

_Marcus waited, facing the rough ocean that thrashed only ten feet away. Even with his preternatural vampiric senses, the first he felt of the young Tobias was a soft stroke of fingernails down his spine through the thin shirt he wore._

_The boy might have been young, but growing up in one of the most debauched, wanton environments in the world had ensured that he knew more about sexuality than most living adults._

_He turned, the wind whipping his unnaturally soft hair across his hard-edged face._

_Roughly, he grasped the beautiful face, pulling Tobias close until the boy had to glare upwards to look him in the eye with those incensed, emerald eyes. Then, with infinite gentleness that belied his harsh grip on the boy, Marcus lowered his head until his lips were hovering just over the quivering boy's._

_Whether he quivered from fear or anger at being treated so, Marcus did not know, or care. All he saw was the insolent rebellion in the boy's eyes, and the expectant, unconscious parting of his lips. _

_He kissed him._

_So roughly the boy bled._

_Afterwards, Marcus wondered whether the boy had been instructed to act in the furious, defiant manner he had, or whether it was simply the boy's own, natural reaction. In later years, he realized that Tobias was a consummate actor, and that his dangerous, highly intelligent mind coupled with his ability to play his sexuality like an instrument had resulted in a boy who could give anyone anything they wanted, even if it was only subconsciously, without even trying._

_At the first taste of Tobias' blood, Marcus was lost. It had been years, _centuries_ since he had lost control of the bloodlust. Yet this boy, young, insolent and a whore, his blood had been so potent that Marcus, possibly the most powerful vampire still living, had submitted to his own primal nature in a way he hadn't since he'd drunk from another, very like Tobias. Alexander the Great himself._

_He recalled ripping the boy's shirt, stalking the boy as he'd stumbled backwards – not afraid, but imbued with that wilful wariness that only enthralled the vampire Lord further. _

_Back, back to the beautiful, oaken, four-poster bed left there by the Lady's people, where Tobias had fallen backwards, landing on the bed in an artless manner that somehow left his dark hair fanning outwards from his uptilted face. _

_No doubt one of the many tricks the Lady's whores were taught in their art. Marcus snarled, feeling his fangs lengthen._

_Lightening sundered the bruised sky above them, and a brutal roll of thunder spun through the air behind the immortal. The storm had reached them._

_The beautiful boy on the bed before him looked up, straight at him, and now his manner changed. From furiously defiant, a cunning look crossed his face before a smirk slowly spread across it, and he began to exude an insolent wantonness. _

_Slashing, cruel rain sliced down around them, rolling like teardrops down the fine, ruthless lines of Marcus' face as he gazed down with eyes that glowed with inhuman emotion._

_The vampire was on the boy in an instant, possessively running his hands down the boy's bare chest. He looked down. Tobias' eyes were open, and had a strange look in them. He looked as if he were staring into infinite wonder, far past the Vampire Lord atop of him._

_Suddenly, that intense, mesmerized look snapped straight into Marcus' eyes. In a moment, the boy thrust his head upwards, and Marcus grasped his hair in a violent, wanton grip, twisting him up and over as they kissed ferociously._

_Then Marcus' fangs pierced Tobias' pale, arching neck, and he remembered nothing more._

**Diagon Alley, Present.**

The next time Snape had seen Tobias, he could only wonder in morbid curiosity what the hell Albus had done to the boy.

It was the day after he had dragged the boy back to the castle, and he'd been sitting at the high table in the Great Hall when the boy walked in.

He was like a ghost, a painted doll of his former self. He slid into the hall, downcast and pale, moving as if he were in another world. He hadn't changed physically, yet so great was the difference in the boy Severus almost didn't recognize the boy for who he was.

Now, it had been him who had been given the task of taking Tobias – or Harry, as they were now to call him – to Diagon Alley to buy him a wand. Anything else they could have and did procure without allowing the boy to leave the security – and restraint – of Hogwarts Castle, but for this, they needed to take Harry out.

Snape had been chosen for the simple fact that of anyone, he would be the least likely to be stopped, greeted or bothered in anyway, and that he was probably the best equipped to subdue the boy if needed.

He strode swiftly down the wide, busy alley, a deeply hooded and cloaked Harry trailing in the wake of his fluttering robes.

They reached Ollivander's, and Snape paused on the threshold, coolly examining the street around them, before ushering the silent boy in ahead of him.

When he entered the old, dimly lit shop, Ollivander was already there, standing stock-still in front of the door leading to the back room, staring at Harry with unblinking eyes. He must have frozen as soon as he caught sight of Harry, on his way out from the back of the shop.

Harry in turn, slowly lowered the deep cowl over his head, and stared back, expressionlessly apathetic, unresponsive to the intense regard the wandmaker subjected him to.

"Dear Lord, Albus, what have you done?" The words were breathed, no doubt the old man's words were meant for himself, not Severus or Harry.

Nevertheless, Severus' eyes narrowed. If Ollivander could sense the deep difference in Harry, then that meant the old man knew more than he should. He shook his head faintly in disgust. The whole situation centring on Harry was far too complicated too grasp fully. Nobody knew everything, there were just seemingly random people who knew or were involved with the boy. He would, Severus promised himself, pay Ollivander a little visit sometime in the future.

But for now, his objective was to get the boy first a wand, and then out, as quickly as possible.

Ollivander broke abruptly out of his frozen stance, and scurried over to the towering, overcrowded shelves of wands.

Much to Severus' irritation, the boy was a tricky match. Often, with most normal wizards, a wand that was close enough was often, quite simply, good enough. Indeed, it was much like the Sorting at Hogwarts'; children would get a wand, or sorted, when they were young, before they had fully developed, and so often their magic and characteristics developed around the wand or House they had gotten.

Severus sensed that it wasn't Tobias' age that provided such complications in finding a wand, but rather, his convoluted, dark power and character. Despite everything, he was looking forward to seeing how the Sorting Hat would respond to the boy.

His attention snapped back to the proceedings as Harry waved a wand, and dark, ambient, _anti_-light enveloped the boy's arm, with angry, dark purple tendrils escaping the strange light. Abruptly, the magic vanished, and Ollivander smiled with a strange emotion. He looked faintly disturbed, but also resigned, as if he should have expected whatever it was. Severus' resolution to pay the wandmaker a visit strengthened. He wanted to know about the wand, especially after seeing what Tobi- _Harry_ had invoked from it.

He let be for now though, as Ollivander carefully returned the wand to its box, and wrapped it silently.

Harry himself watched with wide, green eyes. He had never experienced magic through a wand before, and despite the trauma, that sense of magic had intrigued him.

Ever since Dumbledore – a flash of deep, twisted repugnance lanced through the brittle boy – had broken that _something_, he felt an odd separation within him.

Like who he had been – _him_ – was sleeping, far out of his conscious reach. And now this was him; was an empty shell, a shadow of himself. He hated himself for that. He had become nothing, a toy – and though he knew it, this seeping, intrinsic weakness he was, could do nothing about it.

Oh yes, he knew, in theory, _exactly _what had happened, if not why. Despite what _they_ thought, the Lady was not remiss in _any _aspect of the training of those who belonged to her, and, most especially, she did not disregard those with magical ability or blood.

She refused to allow them wands – for reasons she would not divulge, but every magical foundling taken in was trained in the deepest, most basic aspects of their magical nature.

**Flashback – Tobias.**

_The old man was simply known as Wizard. He had deep, wonderful twinkling eyes, and was a short little man, always dressed in an old-fashioned suit that smelt of vanilla and mint and other marvellous things. _

_The children adored him. He had an old, silver pocket watch he would take out and leave on his desk – which he rarely sat at – and it became a game between them, the children and the old man, to see if the children could take the watch from the desk without him seeing by the end of the lesson._

_If they did, he pretended to tell them off, but they could all see the smile twitching the corners of his mouth under his huge, white, drooping moustache._

_He taught them the ways of their magic. Or at least enough to allow them to each experiment individually with it._

"_Every living being with the ability to manipulate magic has an essence, a core. If you can learn how to reach that core, and understand it, that is the key to changing it, and using your magic."_

_A sea of unblinking, utterly confused eyes stared up at Wizard._

_He sighed, and took another puff on his pipe. That was another thing the children loved. He would sit on the floor with them, with his old pipe, and, like a seaman, would teach them as if he was telling stories. The pipe itself emitted rings of a strange, pale violet coloured smoke that smelt of spices of faraway lands and marketplaces._

"_Think of it like … a flower. You are the petals, what it actually looks like." He poked the boy closest to him, an enthralled Tobias, in the chest with a spindly finger. "The centre of the flower is a place that nobody looks, but it is what the flower really is. Your essence is in the centre of you, and it is a place of amazing magic and power that every single one of you has inside you!"_

_Tobias liked that. So he listened._

"_Your essence is a delicate thing, carefully balanced, but as you grow older, it becomes stronger and stronger. Now, witches and wizards, they control their magic through a wand. Each wand has a bit of magical creature in it – the tail of a wild unicorn, the heartstrings of a dying dragon, the bone of the tiny sprite –" He talked like that a lot, in pictures and vivid images that sparked the children's imaginations._

"_However, a wand limits most normal wizards' powers, because it only draws the powers of the practical aspect of the essence, it only draws what is needed for the spell!"_

_He spoke as if it were the utmost sacrilege._

"_An essence is beautiful, it is the most responsive, impressive, powerful thing in all the known worlds! The most dreadful thing for a living being is to have a part of their essence denied to them! It damages the soul, and cuts –" He made a chopping motion with his brittle, bony arms, "You off from a part of your own source of power and spirit!"_

_Sacrilege. He spoke of it as if it were sacrilege._

**Present.**

Tobias had no idea what the ring was, or even where he had gotten it from. His earliest memory was of being almost run over by the huge, black machine that was the Lady's limousine, and even in that, he clearly remembered the ring reflecting a flash of the headlights into his eyes.

Whatever the ring was, it was deeply imbued with a magic of some kind that meant that his young, unprotected essence, had, over the many years, bonded with the ring's magic so deeply that when _Dumbledore _had _stolen_ it, a deep, dark part of himself had been broken off, taken beyond his reach within the depths of his core.

He _knew _that, but that didn't change what had happened to him. Now, now he was terrified to his gut. He felt empty, a void of weakness that left him impotent. He was completely at Dumbledore's mercy.

That man … revulsion filled him at the thought of Dumbledore, a sickened disgust deep within himself that made him feel … obscene in a way that being a whore never had.

Tobias would have killed him.

But he wasn't Tobias anymore.

But he could feel that dark presence of his true nature – still there, but far, _far _out of his reach.

**The Lady.**

Amongst other things, the Lady owned a most extensive information network. As such, it wasn't in the least surprising that in the new, high-security, Hogwarts' Sanctuary Wing, filled with the Wizarding World's most important ambassadors and world leaders, she had people infiltrated to the highest level.

She never bought spies, or turned people to her cause – no, such methods were notoriously unreliable. Every single person she had taken in and raised in her world. As such, every single one of her people, spread in an immense, comprehensive web that encompassed every level of society in every single country of the world, every single one of them … _belonged _to her.

She read the latest list of those ambassadors in residence at the wing and a soft, treacherous smile curved her dark lips. Of course, that was not to mention the many, _many _very important people who had made use of her organization over the years.

They tended to become very useful when they were threatened with the idea of the exact details of their dirty little habits somehow _leaking_ out.

And now… Now, with the Dark Lord planning what the muggle world would no doubt term a terrorist attack on the scale of 9/11, this little peace project would become a vital international affair.

The Lady had no doubt that the actual magical rulers of each country and sect would suddenly find it in their best interests to take control of the international proceedings themselves.

Then the real fun would begin. The ambassadors sent to the Sanctuary Wing were just small fry, arguing concepts and ideals. Once the true rulers saw fit to arrive, then the true power playing could take place.

And that was where the Lady would come in, slip between the cracks, and manipulate the politics she adored so to create an end that _she_ found acceptable.

**Unknown Location, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.**

The Dark Lord sat unmoving, his fingers steeple before his face, eyes closed. He seemed a serene figure, motionless, a dark, handsome statue that commanded attention, even when it seemed he had no awareness of anything about him.

A man and a woman stood before him, dressed in matching, striking silver and green ensembles. The clothing was form fitting, an oddly military style completed by flowing, open sleeve-less robes.

Both wore a strange, cream-coloured, turban-like covering over their heads, one that twisted and curled tightly around their heads, showing off their scarily alike bone-structure.

The Dark Lord's fingers slowly parted, the slender, elegant hands moving out to frame his face, the eyes still closed.

His eyes opened, staring outwards past the two mysterious figures in front of him, and he uttered two words.

"_Do it_."

**The Library of Merlin.**

The two exotic individuals were, in fact, the leaders of an elite body of armed forces specifically created as a highly efficient, dangerous para-military force.

Twins, they had been first trained by the Lady, who, by using her incredible array of contacts, had been able to source the most highly trained magical combatants in the world, then indoctrinated into the ideology of the Dark Lord.

They, and their squad, were fanatically loyal to the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord only, completely without qualm or inhibition. They were amoral, ruthless killing machines.

Liam and Layla were their names, though only the Lady, and the Dark Lord knew them.

Their squad knew them known, respectively, as Kraken and Kitsune.

Their mission, now, will the Dark Lord's approval, was the complete and utter destruction of the

The Library of Merlin. It was the hub of all known magical texts, an international, famed, _huge_ institution, conceived by the ancient sorcerer, and built in his name by the first British Ministry of Magic.

It was an icon of the Wizarding World.

Silent as shadows, the squad overran the huge building; guards fell, dead before they hit the ground. Magical signature was of no concern, for the coming explosion would obliterate it.

One, entitled Nixie within the squad, prowled the roof, a magical detection spell spreading throughout the surrounding area from her outstretched fingertips. A disturbance rippled through it an instant before the soft sensation of tearing bubbled throughout the magical net.

A breath hissed through her lips. _Apparition._ They must have missed one of the alarms. She dropped to a crouch, pressing a small button magically seared to the skin behind her ear, and spoke in a harsh whisper.

"Nixie to all units. Possible hostile apparition, repeat, possible hostile apparition. Nixie to all units!"

A voice crackled through her ears. "Nixie, this is Kraken, I'm coming to you."

No sooner had the echoes faded than the woman heard a faint clashing coming from the fire escape stairs, and the door banged open, and the squad leader burst through, eyes ablaze.

Ignoring Nixie, he crossed to the edge of the roof, oblivious to the huge, twenty-story drop. His eyes scanned the gardens, reached the gates, and registered the trademark ten-man flower shaped squads of the British Aurors.

Apparition away from the blast site was originally vetoed by Kraken, due to the new experimental research of tracing the magical signatures to their destinations. It would have been the obvious option now, except… he turned to Nixie.

"Have they initiated the anti-apparition wards?"

Her cloak rippling slightly in the wind, the woman spread her arms once more.

After a moment, her eyes snapped open.

"Negative."

The Kraken spoke, as if to the air. "This is Kraken, repeat, this is Kraken. Mission Time?"

Nixie heard a voice come in through the magical receiver implanted in her ear.

"Leviathan to Kraken. Mission Time estimated at seven minutes."

Kraken nodded brusquely. "Right. Kraken to all units. Code Juliet, repeat, code Juliet. Apparition plan initiated."

Nixie looked down. The spreading, efficient, incredibly swift movement of the Aurors through the gardens would have intimated any member of a different military squad. Not so the Changelings of the Dark Lord.

Kraken and Kitsune were, in every sense of the word, military geniuses. Every possible conflict, down to the state of the possible individual members of possible opposition sent were evaluated, and solved weeks before they even occurred.

Her unique energy sense still extended, Nixie felt a crack, and the constricted sense of magical movement that indicated…

"Kraken, the wards are up."

Mere instants after an entirely new plan had been initiated, Kraken spoke through to the squad again.

"Belay that."

For an instant, the cat-like man was silent, then turned and moved away from Nixie, opening a private line to his twin.

"Kitsune?"

"Kraken." Her voice, soft poison, came through.

"The Red Orchid Plan?"

A beat.

"Negative. The Aurors have already entered the building."

"Ghosts. We'll go the Ghosts."

Her low, feminine laugh came through.

"Use Woodstock, Kraken."

His grin shone in the moonless night.

"Affirmative."

He opened the line to the whole squad.

"Kraken to all units. We're going Ghost. Repeat. All units, Ghost is go."

He narrowed it to one squad member.  
"Puck. This is Kraken. Initiate Woodstock. Repeat, initiate Woodstock."

"Affirmative." The man, Puck, couldn't keep the slightest hint of glee from his voice.

Kraken turned, saw that Nixie was just going Ghost. The Disillusionment charm trickled down her body, and in the darkness, the charm worked like perfect invisibility.

He cast the charm on himself, and together, Kraken leading, ran lightly down through the door in the roof, and into the massive, deadly game of hide and seek that was 'Ghosts'.

A moment later, Woodstock initiated.

And the first, _booming_ notes of Mozart's opera, O Fortuna, _reverberated _through the ancient building.

**The Minister For Magic's Private Study. **

One and a half hours later, the man in charge of the emergency auror detachment faced the alternating furious, shell-shocked and horror-struck faces of the Auror Commander-in-Chief, Alastor Moody, British Minister for Magic, Gary Goldwyn, and Department of Mysteries Head, Margaret Knobworth.

His face was still streaked with blood and dirt, his hearing still dulled by huge explosion that had taken place hours ago. The man had not even had a chance to see a healer.

He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed. Alastor frowned, the scowl unintentionally making his craggy features even more fearsome than usual. This man, Peter Brooks, was in charge of the emergency Auror's detachment for a reason. He rarely lost his cool, and no battlefield, no matter how horrific, affected him when he had a job to do.

"It was … a nightmare. Like a nightmare come to life." Brooks continued his report. "When we entered the building, we were confident of our success. From all reports, the group sent was small and elite, outnumbered by us, with no idea we knew about the mission."

"Then … It sounds ridiculous, even more so that it affected my squadron so badly, but… We had spread out through the first three floors and there was no sign of anyone. The building was in complete darkness, and in a place like that, that kind of blind, silent apprehension spooks the best of men."

Margaret Knobworth, who unofficially headed the nonexistent Magical Intelligence Agency (MIA), nodded in cool understanding.

"Then … Nobody knows when it started, but we realized men were missing, men we had seen only minutes earlier. We sent scouts back to investigate, and they came back with stories of ghostly creatures that don't exist and the missing men found with cut throats."

"Did you ever get a visual on one of these apparitions personally, Commander?" Alastor inquired.

Brooks nodded. "Yes. They were purely magical constructs, the kind that are anchored to objects, preset with a signal that initiates them. They could have been planted weeks ago without being detected."

"Whoever did this … it was incredible. A revolutionary defensive stratagem. There was music that started, an opera of some kind that just _blasted_ through the whole building. That along with the complete darkness, the apparitions, the men dying without it ever being even detected – the men were close to panic."

He stopped, and took a deep breath.

"It was a death trap. Someone ordered the men to scatter. I don't know whom, but that was the death knell. It was like every fucking man for himself. Some men cracked, and there were Aurors killing Aurors because nobody could identify anybody. I managed to organise some of the squad to get out of the building before it exploded, but … there's no way of telling how many men died in there."

Moody consulted some papers that had been owled from the site of the late library.

"Of the two hundred men you took into the building, seventy have been accounted for alive, and seven as dead from wounds. The cleanup squad has just been deployed to begin going through the rubble before dawn."

Moody shook his head and looked up. "I'm sorry Brooks, but this is a disaster. A complete and utter fuck up."

"I know sir."

Goldwyn leaned forward and clasped his hands together under his chin.

"And not a single enemy combatant was captured?"

"No sir." Brooks couldn't keep an overwhelming feeling of impotence from washing over him.

"And the press have already arrived at the scene?" The question was addressed to Margaret.

"Yes, Prime Minister."

"The scene of the huge Dark Mark hovering over the destroyed Library of Merlin, with wounded Aurors lying all over the ground surrounding it, with not a single enemy captured?"

Silence.

Goldwyn crossed to the door and opened it.

"Somebody get me the editor of the Daily Prophet and the International Omen!"

A pause.

"And a triple strength Vanilla Pepper Up potion!"

He slammed the door.

"I don't know if this is a disaster or a blessing in disguise. This could force the bloody cautious foreign bastards into action if we give it the right spin."

Alastor and Margaret exchanged a look while the Prime Minister wasn't looking. Theyweren't sure if the new _Prime Minister_ was a disaster or a blessing in disguise. Better than having an idiot coward like Fudge, but the man had no thought for anything but the preservation of the strength and protection of Magical Britain.

**Daily Prophet, August 27th.**

HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED DECLARES WAR ON WIZARDING WORLD

In a horrific explosion last night, You-Know-Who's followers attacked and destroyed the iconic Library of Merlin, killing an as yet unspecified number of Aurors in the midnight attack.

The Minister for Magic Goldwyn has issued a statement on the events of the night, stating:

"_This unforgivable act has propelled the threat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his movement out of Britain and is a clear indicator of his violent intentions for the global Wizarding community."_

The Wizarding Community has responded to this attack on the Library as an attack on everything the Wizarding World stands for.

"_That library contained the knowledge of generations of our world, knowledge that has now been lost forever. You-Know-Who has clearly demonstrated his blatant disregard for the freedom of knowledge and co-operation between the nations."_

In an unprecedented show of concord, the rulers of almost every organized Wizarding nation has agreed to attend a summit occurring at the newly opened Hogwarts' Sanctuary wing in just over a month, on the 2nd of October.

_More on the Global Wizarding Summit, page 5._

_To read a specially compiled article on the history of the Library of Merlin, page 7_

_A discussion on the possible intentions of You-Know-Who, page 8_

**France.**

Wizarding France was ruled, still, by a constitutional monarchy. In the days of revolution, French Wizarding society as a whole had made a decision, lead by the Witch Queen Violetta, and had stepped back from the muggle crisis, remaining apart from the huge political and social changes muggle France had endured during that time.

Though there was an elected parliament, the royalty remained in a position of power, leading the parliament and personally selected cabinet as both monarch and president.

In the modern day, the Witch Queen's legacy was extensive. The family name, Le Fae, was carried by a far-reaching but closely bound family dynasty that was loved by their Wizarding subjects.

The current King, Xavier, was a dignified widower currently residing at the _Palace Rosé_, one of the five ancestral homes of the Le Fae family.

Walking down the softly glowing pink marble entrance hall, running a hand over the black messy hair that became long, dark dreadlock-type tresses that flowed down his back, was Leonard, one of the twelve deadly wolves of the Lady.

"Xavier!" He called out, grinning devilishly as the man appeared, his silver-streaked dark hair carefully brushed back, dressed in an open brocade Wizarding robe, the collar fashionably turned up.

"_Monsieur _Leonard!_ Comment ça va?_" He inquired, opening his arms and embracing the younger man familiarly.

He was a rush of dark vanilla male cologne. His lips briefly brushed the King's neck as he replied, in a heady whisper.

"_Parfait."_

Xavier smiled wryly as Leonard pulled back. "Your arts grow with every passing day, I'm sure, Monsieur."

The roguish man's grin widened, revealing a small ruby twinkling from his front left tooth.

"You can blame my Lady for that, your majesty."

Xavier raised his eyebrow and inclined his head in Leonard's direction before deftly sidestepping him and walking back towards the open entrance, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Now I know it's not coincidence that mere hours after that rather spectacular attack, I find you on my doorstop." He stated.

The laughter that burst forth from Leonard was low and spontaneous. When it had died down, he regarded the French King from where he stood, casually leaning back on one foot, exuding the masculine grace of a lion.

"You, your majesty, are no fool. And the Lady wants you to go to that summit." He replied in a casual, lilting tone, as if demanding political movements from the leader of one of the most powerful Wizarding nations in the world was of no huge importance.

"My dearest wolf-" Xavier began, voice rich with amusement.

"Let me remind you, _King_." He cut in, his voice a sharp interruption, dark, a lethal, poisonous bite,

"That without our support, your little problem six years ago would never have gone away – and it can just as easily slip its way back into your life."

The man paled.

"She couldn't. Not now, it would impact too heavily on the world stage, if such a thing occurred again-"

The man stalked forwards, coat flaring out behind him,

"Couldn't she?" He whispered. "What can't_ she_ do, Le Fae?"

Xavier's chin lifted slightly.

"I will send Jacques. To go myself would destroy valuable leverage for no reason at all."

Leonard's lips parted slightly in consideration.

"He is a good son. A smart prince. Yes, he will do."

With that, the dark tension between the two powerful people lessened, and Xavier's mouth quirked slightly.

"Any other … _information_ I should have to give Jacques?"

Leonard's eyelid drooped delicately in a dainty wink.

"Keep an eye on that pesky Potter family, darling King."

**Hogwart's.**

Harry stood, balancing lightly on the lip of a wide expanse of castle roof. He was high above the grounds, the lake and forests spread out below him.

His dark hair blew out in the wind, wind that stung his eyes, slapped his thin white shirt against goose-bump rippled skin.

He couldn't stand it. Couldn't handle walking the hallways of this castle, knowing that at any point he might turn a corner and come face to face with the people who had stolen everything from him.

It had already happened once or twice before he had fled to the roof. Awkward, almost entirely silent meetings with barely a word uttered. But he was always lower in status, always the one stood, wide-eyed and passive until the other - his father, a professor, anyone, took their leave.

And in a few days, school would begin, and the castle would be flooded with others, the young witches and wizards who would judge and see him for what he was. The other Potter boy.

A cry of frustration threatened to tear lose from his throat. He restrained it, eyes burning.

He wanted to _kill _ them.

**Platform 9 & ¾.**

Evonne entered Platform Nine and Three Quarters, all too conscious of the Dark Mark necklace sent to her by the Dark Lord hanging from her neck, hidden just under the unbuttoned neck of her shirt.

With her were Diana and Melissa. The three girls were immediately joined by the four others that made up their coterie. Evonne's eyes scanned the platform, noting how Draco was talking to the new Ravenclaw prefects, and, out of the corner of her eye, the mudblood Granger, here for a last year of punishment.

Evonne could not comprehend why anyone would put themselves through seven years of oppression and violence to get through to a world that would never accept them. She shook her head, dismissing the thought from her head, and strode towards the train, levitating her trunk behind her.

As she walked past Draco, their eyes met for a moment. His in contempt, hers in sarcasm.

Draco watched the group of girls enter the train. _Bitch_. He thought maliciously as Evonne's dark robes fluttered out of view. That girl had no care for anyone but herself, using her body shamelessly to her advantage. He couldn't count the amount of times they struggled for the supremacy of Slytherin, and this year, as seventh years, it would be the most bitter.

He felt a cold shudder down his spine, and his mouth twisted in an ugly grimace.

**Hogwart's.**

Harry waited in a room just off the Great Hall with the other new students of the year. The first years went first, traditionally, and now, recently, as the war had begun to grow, Hogwarts had opened its doors to students from higher years, who were sorted after the first years.

He looked out through the open door. The actual Hall wasn't visible, but the roof was – a sparkling, glittering expanse of stars with wisps of silvery clouds floating amongst them.

He let out a breath and fell back against the wall. He was the only new seventh year – so he would be sorted last.

Tobias would have loved that. He'd always been one for making an entrance.

Now, though, the knowledge that the moment his name was announced, he would be entering that room to the incredulous and calculating stares of the Hogwarts' population gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

**The Great Hall.**

Evonne sat at the table, fuming all the way through the sorting. Her chin resting on hands that clasped her face, framing the wide, innocent, doll-like eyes that hid the manipulative mind behind.

Draco, and his little clique had somehow managed to get seated at the head of the Slytherin table before her. Tonight, and tomorrow morning were vitally important. She remembered all her years through Hogwarts', as one of the students of the younger years, she had taken the cues of who were the Houses most powerful people from where they were seated at the beginning of the year.

The sorting was winding down now, they had just sorted the sixth years, and there were no new seventh years, of that she was sure. As such, she was rather surprised when Dumbledore himself stood up to address the students.

"I am terribly sorry, my dear students, as I am sure you are all fidgeting with terrible impatience for the food to arrive, but I feel that the last student to be sorted requires an introduction."

Evonne's eyes widened and she sat up straighter. That, and the fact that she had had no idea there was a new student, meant that they had to be of no little importance. Her eyes met Juliette's, one of her closest friends, across the table. Then they both looked back up to the Headmaster.

"It is not common knowledge that Daniel Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, currently in seventh year here, had and has a twin."

Evonne's eyebrows shot up. _Important indeed._

"For his own safety, Mr Potter's twin, Harry Potter, was sent away to be tutored privately. Now, with the current dangers and upheaval our country is experiencing, it was thought in his best interests to bring him back to Hogwarts. Without further ado, I call Mr Potter to be sorted."

The old man sat, and Harry walked out. Evonne's head tilted slowly, her eyes running over the boy appreciatively.

A murmur ran through the hall.

Draco's mind went icy cold.

_Holy fuck._

That boy was one of Lady's whores, one whom he remembered all too well. His silver eyes narrowed intensely as he reconsidered what Dumbledore had said.

It was a lie, obviously, damage control cooked up by the Potters and Dumbledore. But how much was falsehood and how much was truth, he had no idea. But he intended to find out.

Harry walked to the hat, and without so much as a glance at the hundreds of eyes staring straight at him, placed the hat over his head.

**The Sorting.**

The hat spoke to Harry.

"Oh my lord, what have we here?"

The thought flashed through Harry's mind before he could stop it.

_A broken man._

The hat chuckled, "Oh, no, my dear boy. You're not broken, just … bound."

Fierce anger flashed through Harry's mind.

"Oh my. What anger. And what's this? You have an immense talent yet … it is somehow so far away I can barely touch it. What _have _they done to you?"

"No mind, let's see what else there is to see sonny boy."

A moment.

"No, not just the anger. Such hate you have, yet you cannot act on it. It's cracking you wide open, you know that, don't you?" The hat didn't give Harry time to respond.

"Never formally educated, but there is intelligence there, and a fierce loyalty to yourself, and your, I must say, rather questionable companions."

_Fuck you._

"Well, you're not all gone." The hat concluded cheerfully.

"SLYTHERIN!"

**Slytherin Table.**

Draco smiled softly to himself as the hat yelled its decision to all and sundry.

Well. That would make things a little easier to figure out.

The smile slipped as he saw the boy pause, and look uncertainly to Dumbledore, as if for confirmation. The man inclined his head briefly before turning back to Snape.

Frustration flooded Draco's thoughts.

Harry Bloody Potter. The boy was Dumbledore's creature.

**The Daily Prophet**

THE BOY-WHO-LIVED'S LONG LOST TWIN RETURNS!

_Days after the catastrophic destruction of the Library of Merlin, Wizarding Britain is once again shocked, but this time for a much more pleasant reason._

_It was not commonly known, but our national hero, Daniel Potter, has, in fact, a twin brother, Harry Potter, who, for his own safety, was sent away as a child to be tutored by an old family friend._

_The boy is now returning to his family to join Hogwarts' for his final school year…_

Lord Voldemort folded the paper calmly, and stared at the images accompanying the article.

There was something deeply wrong. His dark eyes narrowed as he watched a picture, the caption of which read; '_Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts', welcomes the overwhelmed Harry Potter.'_ The boy seemed uncertain, shy, a little lost – at least that was how most of the public would interpret it.

The Dark Lord saw the small things. Saw how Dumbledore's hand pressed down a little too heavily on the boy's shoulder, saw the frustration burning through the boy's eyes for a short moment before the features returned to apathy.

The boy was strikingly attractive, but the Dark Lord knew the Lady and her world all too well. The boy he saw in the picture was not at all what the product of such an environment should be.

They had done something to the boy, and he wanted to know what. Quickly, he penned several brief letters.

His followers at Hogwarts would be instructed to find out more about the boy, no doubt, in the process, fighting each other for the best information, for more favour.

Such in fighting might not breed a strong sense of loyalty between his followers, but it had the double value of preventing any one follower from gaining too much status, and it also guaranteed a certain level of effectiveness.

**The Lady.**

Far across the country, the Lady read first the _Daily Prophet_, then a small slip of paper that was a report from one of her spies.

The note crumpled in her grip, her nails tearing the parchment.

Perhaps it was time she and her wolves paid Dumbledore a little visit.

Showed him that one did not steal from the Lady without consequence.

**A/N**

I know that the more character's are introduced, the harder it is to keep track of all the ogings on of this AU. If I get reviews requesting a character list, I will post one up for you lovely readers.

Speaking of readers, I really need feedback. Full stop.

I can have no idea of what you think of what I am doing or how to improve it or what you _do _or _do not _want the plot or characters to do if you don't review.

Even just two or three words if you don't have the time or inclination.

Thank you,

Charlie.


	8. ∑ Preamble ∑

**Malignant Objects.**

**Warning: This story contains both _slash_ and _het_. Also, this chapter is a 'between', it comes before the storm, so to speak.**

**Chapter Title: Preamble _n_**

_1.something that precedes, introduces, or leads up to something else_

**----------------**

**-----------------**

_**Teaser: **_

_He watched the Lady._

"_And I suppose all those long and twisting words had a purpose?"_

_She examined her dark, polished nails._

"_It's quite simple. He is in shock. Hidden somewhere in his subconscious is his true personality... No, beyond and even deeper than that… At the very centre of his very core, is where he waits and watches. The ring, so undeniably magically powerful, became a symbiote. True, it didn't make him what he was. Oh no, not at all. But when they forcibly took it from him, he went into shock."_

_A furrow between his brows was the only sign of an attentive audience. "So what now?"_

_She smiled. "Wait… Wait for the unfortunate thing to release him from that shock." The smile widened into a fierce grin._

"_And then watch him wreak a bloody vengeance upon them all."_

**---------------**

**-------------**

**Hogwarts.**

**---------------**

After the sorting, and the feast, Tobias followed the crowd exiting the hall _en masse_. He got tangled up in the quick-moving crowds, and before he knew it; he found himself in a strange corridor. He was looking around, trying to decide which way to go when he heard a shout and the sound of muted thud nearby.

Following these sounds, he turned into another hallway, and saw a group of boys, about his age, whom had circled around a younger boy, who looked to be a fourth year. Casually leaning against the wall at the corner, his dark robes draping his form, he folded his arms and watched in contempt.

The obvious leader, a tall, handsome, auburn-haired boy was backhanding the younger one. The boy fell back; sagging against the stone wall, lip bloody, eyes sullen.

"You, filthy son of a _whore_." The auburn haired boy spat. "Not so proud to be a Slytherin now, are you?"

Another one of the boys, also redheaded, but his hair a bright, orange-red and his face covered in freckles, surprised Tobias. He had a kind, good-humoured face, but laughed cruelly at the Slytherin boy, shoving him off the wall, down unto his knees.

"You little wuss. Look at you. Sneaky little coward, d'ya think we wouldn't remember you trying to chat up my little sister, huh?"

Shaking with fury, the boy pushed himself back up. Another boy shoved him back down. From his angle, Tobias could see him try to draw his wand. The auburn boy kicked him roughly across the stomach, flinging the boy's body back.

His head flew back, and connected with the rough, stone wall with a sickening crack.

One of the older boys, a black one, swore softly. "Shit, Dan, don't kill the boy."

The auburn boy, Dan, looked over his shoulder and grinned handsomely. "Don't be such a pussy, Dean."

"_Petrificus Totalus!" _The young boy's voice rang out, and the red-haired, freckled boy toppled, fall flat on his face. Dean threw a filthy glance at the Slytherin, and crouched, quickly cancelling the spell and rolling the boy over.

"Ron, mate, you alright?"

Ron's hand came away from his face covered in blood from his nose. He had a nasty expression on his face.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good, Dean."

Dan turned to the boy with an ugly expression, snapping his wand expertly.

"_Diffindo!_"

A slicing, glaring cut slashed its way across the boy's face. He cried out, but shoved himself to his feet to look Dan in the eye, then spat.

With a roar of rage, Dan flung a punch at the boy's stomach, pummelling him.

Tobias watched the scene, disgust building in him. The boy was small for his age, and if they didn't stop soon, they'd damage him beyond repair.

He knew how to evaluate damage. After years of living in the Lady's domain, where all forms of sexual gratification and sensual _specialities_ were catered for, he could judge if someone would or could recover. A few times, even with magical aid, there were some who had never recovered to the high level of perfection demanded of the whores.

The clients who went too far often found themselves in unmarked graves.

What he saw occurring now was obscene. So he stepped out, and as the group turned to look at him, got his first clear look at the leader's, at Dan's, face.

His stomach dropped.

"Hello, _brother._" He pronounced coolly with a slight arch to his brow and voice, battling the sick feeling building up inside his head, whirling his thoughts till he felt dizzy with some kind of apprehensive fear.

_Dammit. He would never have felt like this …_before.

But he continued.

"What a lovely homecoming this is."

The boy, Dan, had frozen, looking at him, mesmerized.

Tobias waited a beat, having to consciously control the tremor that threatened to betray his weakness.

The group was silent, all in shock.

So he simply moved past them, easily lifted the boy, and walked away.

It was all too much. His twin, the _motherfucking_ Boy-Who-Lived,was a brute; a handsome, intelligent, glorified … _bully_.

It never occurred to Tobias that he, himself, had been the same, and much worse, at times.

So much for a first meeting. He wondered. _Was this why the meeting with his brother had been so long post-poned?_

-------

**Slytherin Common Room**

**-------------**

The Slytherin common room was situated under the lake, in such a way that almost a full half of it was literally protruding into the water, and there were a myriad of long, horizontal strips of magically protected glass that allowed rippling, green-blue light into the common room during the day.

Now, at night, the room was lit by torches that floated around the walls of the room, and by a single, large chandelier _generously _donated by Evonne's family, that added a much-detailing illumination to the room.

The room was expansive, and towards the end where the windows looked into the lake, there was a heightened area with its own set of chairs, desks, couches and a grand fireplace. This was where the seventh years traditionally held court.

Evonne curled up on the large, high-backed chair that sat unobtrusively in a far corner of this area. Letting her head tilt down to one side, she blew a rudely one-fingered kiss at the black-haired slut Draco was so fond of.

Pansy smiled icily in return, tossing her black, sharp bob back as she watched Juliette, Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass and Luc and Matthew Mersault, two French Beauxbatons brothers who had transferred two years earlier, join the smug blonde.

Evonne smiled and laughed at something Juliette had said, arching back in her chair, loosening her tie to let it hang undone around her neck. Pansy narrowed her eyes at the obvious posturing, her dark eyes sweeping the room, until they came to rest on the new Potter twin, who had just entered the common room.

Evonne was eyeing the boy like a bitch in heat.

Pansy turned, raising a dark eyebrow, and fluffing her dark bob, and moving across the common room to the couches by the fire, where Blaise and Draco were already seated. They, it seemed had not missed Evonne's behaviour.

In the darkly flickering light, the mixed shadows and red-ember light playing across Draco's face heightened the fine, brooding features as he reclined back across the long couch, half-sitting, watching Tobias on the far side of the room from under hooded lids.

Pansy settled herself on the floor between Draco and Blaise, tilting her head back so it rested on the arm of Blaise's chair, and lifting her legs to rest them on the seat of Draco's couch.

There was a moment of silence, before Pansy broke it, wryly stating in dark tones, "What the _fuck_?"

Draco's eyes reluctantly left Tobias to roll lazily down to look at her.

"It's brilliant, actually. The whore's a Potter. The world finally makes sense." He said sarcastically, dismissively even, but Pansy watched how his eyes drifted immediately back to Tobias - or was it Harry now?

Blaise's cold, slanting eyes glinted with amusement.

"'_Tutored privately'_" He mocked Dumbledore's earlier explanation, and snorted, "Yeah, tutored privately for sure – but somehow I'm thinking it wasn't magic he was getting tutored in."

"Hmm." Draco's eyes slid over Tobias thoughtfully for a moment before he flipped over, looking at Pansy and Blaise.

"But I'm thinking that he didn't want to come. Look at him. It's got to be something. Blackmail, threats, gods, it could be anything. Dumbledore's the most powerful man in Wizarding Britain these days." He said it slowly with an almost sneer on his lips, as if considering the words as they rolled off his tongue and finding them offensive to his aristocratic sensibilities.

"But why would they do that? Make him attend, now, of all times?" Blaise looked sceptical. "And why would he be reluctant to return here? Be the famous son of a famous family? And be accepted within his own world and to be a part of his own kind?"

"Well then, it may mean that back in his old world, he must not have had it so bad," murmured Pansy with an elegant, flippant roll of her shoulders.

Draco's grey eyes flickered in the light – his cheeks flushed slightly at the memory of the place he had first seen Tobias.

"Maybe they only just found him? I asked Father about the Lady, and he told me she paid allegiance to the Dark Lord, said something about 'swapping favours'. What if Harry Potter…" He tilted his head towards Tobias. "…Was the Lady's favour?"

---------

**Slythering Common Room – Alternate Perspective**

**---------------**

"- don't you think, Evonne?"

Evonne's eyes snapped back to the circle of friends around her. _Friends? More like hanger-ons_, she thought contemptuously, but smiled the frosty glimmer of a born ice-queen, "Forgive me, but what did you say?"

Luc's eyes travelled to the object of her attention.

"The boy is seems rather … disappointing, don't you think? More of a pawn for – " He sneered, "that Dumbledore and his Potters."

Evonne raised her eyebrows leaning casually across the arm of her chair. She didn't much care for his tone. Her eyes caught Luc's, and held them. "Maybe he just needs a little … encouragement. He was, after all, sorted into our illustrious house." She purred, eyes narrowing. "And if not … he could still have his uses. A malleable, vulnerable Potter within our midst and with connections on both sides of the game? Why, such a device could be priceless in our propaganda-driven world, Luc. Really, you must use your brain occasionally, no matter how much ti strains you. IT strains me even more to lower myself just so I can understand your babblings."

A light blush tinged the French boy's cheeks, as he muttered something nondescript amidst snickers from the rest of the circle.

Evonne had twisted, was leaning forward over the arm of the chair to call out to the Potter, when the common room entrance swung open, and Professor Snape entered. She scowled, but paid attention. Every year the head of Slytherin addressed the house as a whole.

The common room settled, quieting until the man had the attention of the entire room. His sallow face grave, he regarded his house proudly over the hooked nose that dominated his face.

"For those new, welcome, for those returning, I applaud you." He began, his voice vaguely condescending.

"In such times as these, of war and fear, especially with the new focus on Hogwarts, it is good to see so many have become a part of this ancient house. Many will deride you, and judge you, purely for being a Slytherin. They are those who hate He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and assume all of Slytherin follow his ideals."

Evonne watched the room. Many of her fellow students smirked at this, or muttered. Some looked distinctly unsettled while the smart ones – few and far between in her judgement – remained impassive.

"In this house, whatever your beliefs, you are welcome to them. But I must warn you, openly voicing beliefs so contrary to popular opinion may, in these times, cause needless obstacles. You are Slytherins, so use your cunning to know when to act, and when to remain silent."

His mouth twitched in a grim smile, and he nodded, dismissing the house. "Goodnight."

As he left, he took Tobias with him, for his first _official_ meeting with his twin.

-----------

**Meeting Room, Hogwarts.**

**-------------**

It was awkward. Dumbledore watched from the back of the room, invisible, as Harry flung himself into a chair at the end of the table, folded his arms and glared sullenly at his parents.

He wouldn't rebel, would never actively react, not while Dumbledore held the ring, but the passive resistance tore at James', and especially Lily's, respective hearts.

Daniel was cold. He betrayed no shock at his first meeting of his twin brother, so long delayed precisely so that there would be no time to build up a comradeship. Albus intended to use Tobias as competition, to spur Daniel into higher realms of magical use.

To Dumbledore, it was obvious they had encountered each other prior to this meeting, and from the way they barely said a word to the other, that the encounter had obviously not been friendly. It was in the way Tobias looked at him with a condescending, disgusted air that could only come from years of practise from being superior to anyone and anything, and the way Daniel glared at him with a mixture of apprehension and jealousy that could easily turn to hate,

Lily and James were crushed.

Albus was … satisfied.

------------

**Hogwarts. **

**-------------**

That passive resistance, that inability to _do _anything, yet fierce reluctance to cooperate continued for the next few weeks.

Tobias sat at the back of the classrooms, alone, ignoring any commands to practise magic. Oh, he watched, and learnt, but refused to pick up his wand, and demonstrate his ability, or lack thereof. The professors were frustrated, infuriated, no punishment seemed to deter him, and his apathy through detentions, his refusal to do what they told him too, without showing any emotion, in the end, stopped them from giving them too him.

The normal course was suspension, then expulsion, if the student continually refused to complete his punishment, but Albus would not allow the expulsion of the one they had fought so hard for. He cared nothing for the school, hated it even, and so the deduction of house points, if anything, pleased him.

Those already paying allegiance to the Dark Lord, such as Snape, Evonne and Draco, among others, had all received notification of the Lord's interest in the new Potter, and, accordingly, watched him. There was no small competition, through subterfuge and subtlety, to gain favour with the Dark Lord through providing information on Harry, or even to gain favour through him.

Evonne and her clique encompassed him, drew him into their circle of feminine wiles and flattery, which he tolerated, but did not respond to.

Draco watched Tobias, and when he saw opportunities to build rapport or understanding with him, did so. Yet, they barely talked.

Daniel and his mob ignored him as best they could. With Tobias performing no magic, not actively participating in anything, barely living, there was nothing to build Daniel's sense of competition, or envy.

Stagnation. The situation remained static, fraught with tension, Draco and Evonne locked in a battle, it seemed, over the dark sexuality, which yet exuded, from the apathetic, passive Harry.

Thus it remained, until the night of Halloween.

----------

**Hogwarts Grounds**

**------------**

**Hallow's Eve**

-------------

The Lady's limousine floated through the air, a sleek, dark, silent shape.

Flanking it were two black, identical sports cars, all mean curves and powerful lines.

The three vehicles slanted downwards, coming to a silent rest on the ground, a short distance from the steps that lead up to the _mammoth _doors that lead into the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts.

The doors were, as per usual, heavily locked and bolted from the inside, both magically and physically.

The doors of the two sports cars opened with an electronic _click-hiss, _sliding upwards.

Out of the left emerged a soulfully pretty woman, all soft curves and sweet eyes. The man who had arrived in the other car slammed down the door casually and grinned handsomely at her.

"Sweet ride, Camille."

The woman turned and dimpled adorably.

"Fuck off, Jeremiah." Her voice was venomous, a sharp counterpoint to her joyful prettiness.

"Touchy." Jeremiah shrugged, and leaned back against his car, smiling crookedly at Camille, who laughed merrily and looked up at the sky expectantly.

The limousine sat unmoving, silent.

"Here come Eric and Valentin." Jeremiah commented, as dark shadows coalesced in the space between the two sports cars.

Eric materialized first, a slender, white-haired young man, with the crystal-cut, cold features and terrifying pale eyes of a psychopath.

Then came Valentin. An exquisitely beautiful, feminine man with sultry eyes and soft lips. He gracefully draped an arm over Eric's shoulders and looked across at Camille.

"Hey honey." He crooned, even his voice a mixture of female softness and male undertone.

She blew him a kiss.

Jeremiah pouted.

There was a loud roaring in the distance, accompanied by the odd sound of whip cracks.

The cracks turned out to be three apparitions.

Leto stalked into the circle of light given by the headlights of the three cars. He was a powerful, muscular man, with a shaven head and unshaven jaw.

He eyed the circle.

"Fucking weirdos."

"We love you too, Leto." Valentin purred at the man.

"Oh, leave the boy alone." Helena appeared behind Leto, her small, compact form dwarfed by his huge one.

She had the dark, rough voice of a woman who smoked too many cigarettes and screamed too much.

She moved forwards, slapping Leto on the arse on her way, and strutted across to Camille, her movements exaggerated by the two fearsomely large guns slung across her hips.

Camille leant forwards and brushed her lips against Helena's.

The third one who apparated had already walked into the circle, settling her hips against the bumper of Jeremiah's car.

He turned and smiled at her.

"Hey Lilith." He said softly.

The woman threw him a glance. Her black, wild curls swung around her delicate features as she stuck a cigarette between dark crimson lips.

"What's up?"

He shrugged, and turned back around, crossing his arms.

The distant roaring became louder, so loud it was almost upon the unusual gathering.

Two motorbikes came roaring up the old road that lead to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade, squealing to a halt inches from Lilith's long slender legs.

She raised a dark eyebrow, and blew out a smoke ring, looking away.

The first driver took off her helmet as she swung a leg over the motorbike, shaking out long a long sheet of golden hair. Here was the stunning woman who had led Dumbledore and the Potter's through the Lady's world when they first came to meet Tobias.

The man sitting on the motorbike behind her jumped off, pulling off his helmet in one movement, glaring at the woman, Anés, as he tousled up dark red hair. Then he reached over into the side compartment of the bike and pulled out a gun.

But what a gun. It was huge, almost a metre in length, and bristled with futuristic looking gadgets, tubes, buttons and poisonous colours. Balthazar hefted the gun up over his shoulder easily and swaggered over to Lilith, plucking the cigarette from her fingers.

Lilith, looking determinedly away, ignored him. He grinned, and took a long drag, standing _very _close to the lovely woman, before placing the cigarette back between her pale fingers, which had not moved.

Anés, impossibly glamorous, cuffed Balthazar across the back his head as she moved past.

Leonard, getting off the second motorbike, laughed out loud. He didn't bother to wear a helmet, letting his long dreadlocks fly out behind him.

He turned, ignoring the dirty look the flame-haired man threw him, and picked up the woman riding behind him, and swung her off the bike.

She pulled off her helmet, revealing bronze skin and almond-shaped eyes that glared for a moment, and promptly slapped him before striding off in high heels.

His mouth opened in an indignant 'O'.

"What was that for?!"

"The fucking dreadlocks. I think I've got bruises!"

Now it was Balthazar's turn to laugh. Leonard rubbed his cheek sulkily.

"Now, now." A dark voice cut through the various squabbles, silent staring contests and posing going on in the group.

It was Morragan. He strode through the group, darkly handsome, moving straight to the limousine's back door.

He threw a look over his shoulder at the Wolves of the Lady, before carefully opening the door.

A long, sleek leg emerged. Morragan offered his hand, and the Lady's arm extended gracefully, taking his hand before she swung her other leg out, standing in one slow, fluid movement.

Her long, floor-length coat pooled around her elbows, sliding off her shoulders. A silver cane swung from two fingers as she strode forwards, her long, blonde curls falling across her bare shoulder, blown backwards by the light wind.

She didn't talk, didn't look at the wolves. They knew exactly what to do, what was expected of them. Now the Lady had emerged, and they were beginning, all false dramatics gone.

They were the Lady's Wolves. The most feared creatures in the world.

To those precious few that knew of them, at least.

And they were on the prowl tonight.

And much more to be feared, the Lady was leading them.

-------

**Halloween Feast, Great Hall, Hogwarts.**

**-------------**

The Halloween feast was well underway, full to bursting with loud, laughing students. The Great Hall was resplendent in eerie glory, instead of the usual light and airy ambience, there were darkly flickering, floating pumpkins and candles that alternately sent shadows and light skittering across faces and ghosts.

With a dull crash that set the flames dancing wildly, the double doors at the top of the staircase that descended into the Hall were blown open. Literally.

Screams and shouting echoed around the hall, students leaping to their feet, teachers rising from their high table, wands drawn, and all attention, frantic, shocked, terrified and frozen was locked on the ruins of the doors.

From the smoking, flaming remains, thirteen darkly silhouetted figures emerged. One, swinging the smoking monster of a gun back over his shoulder, revealing the source of the explosion.

The sharp _schnick _of a match being lit echoed in the complete silence of the hall, and a spark illuminated the woman behind whom all the wolves were arrayed in terrifying preciseness.

The flame illuminated the downturned head of the Lady, curls sliding over a flawless face, as she lit the cigarette at the end of the long, slender cigarette holder that dangled elegantly from dark, crimson lips.

That done, she flung the match outwards, from the top of the stairs, the small stick twirling and twisting in an arc, till it halted, suspended just above the foot of the stairs, and the flame expanded, becoming a sphere of fire that illuminated the small area around the staircase… eerily like a spotlight.

Anés, the one who had magically manipulated the flame, smiled wickedly. The Lady wanted a show, and she _would_ have her theatrics.

Slowly, dangerously slow, the Lady's head tilted upwards and slightly to the side, an insolent angle. Her lips parted in a sensual pout, her lowered lids sliding open at last to reveal terrifyingly cold eyes.

The illumination swept over those fierce, impossibly beautiful warriors at her back; but attention never left the enthralling movements of the Lady herself as she began to move down the grand staircase, fur coat trailing behind her.

Snape made a movement with his wand, and Balthazar swung his gun down with a lightening speed levelling it across the Hall dead straight towards him, eyes blazing, daring the man to do a thing. Slowly, Snape's hand lowered.

As if that had been a signal, a number of deadly slides and clicks echoes throughout the Hall as each Wolf drew a number of weapons, in any size and form, handling them with deadly efficiency, eyes missing no movement, no action going unchecked across the entire breadth of the Hall.

The Lady ignored them, blowing out a slow, languorous breath of smoke that billowed away, its glittering, silvery colour the result of no natural cigarette.

And when she spoke, when she _finally _spoke, her voice rolled over the entire Great Hall with apparently no effort, a dark, ominous, velvet roughness embodied in her very voice.

"Alllll-bus." _As if reprimanding a puppy._

Dumbledore stood tall at the centre of the high table, a dignified, elegant figure. He inclined his head ever so slightly.

"You have taken something that _belongs to me."_ Her tone sent shivers down the spine of even the most sceptical present.

_How the hell could the man have been so incredibly foolish as to anger a woman such as this?_ The thought rippled across Draco's mind, and he looked over to Blaise and Pansy, seeing the same thought mirrored in their faces, in the face of anyone he could see, then he saw Harry.

Tobias had not even reacted to the explosion; his eyes had not even left his plate for the past minute. Now, deliberately, he dabbed at around his mouth with a napkin, before carefully placing it on his place, and rising, his eyes still cast downwards.

The Lady's eyes immediately snapped to the young man, and so, naturally, everyone's eyes followed hers to him.

Ignoring this, he carefully, slowly, stepped over the bench, placed his hands in his pockets, eyes still downcast, and walked around to the centre of the hall, at the end of the main aisle closest to the high table.

There, he stopped, for what seemed like an eternity. The beautiful, dark boy, head down, hair falling across his face, the attention of every living and non-living being in the hall focused on him.

Then slowly, deliberately, he looked up, directly at Dumbledore for a crucial, meaningful moment, then turned and began to walk directly towards the Lady.

A cruel smile curved her lips.

A shock rippled through the crowd, frantic whispers began as finally people began to realize that the _thing _the Lady meant, was, in fact, Harry Potter.

Dumbledore's eyes burned blue fury as events began to spiral out of his control, and that terrifying power he was famed for poured into his voice – a dire warning.

"_Harry."_

The Lady liked to believe herself prepared for every contingency, never surprised by the actions of thinking beings. Now, to her shock, _Tobias obeyed that command in Dumbledore's voice!_

Her lips parted, and those terrible eyes widened for a moment as a wave of pure fury swept through her dark consciousness. Abandoning her usual, indolent movement, she swept down the stairs, a predator, and the deadly intent that flowed from her every action caused the students even on the far side of the hall to fall back.

She halted a way from Tobias, skirts and golden tresses whipping about her for a moment as if with a mind of their own. He stood there, in the centre of the hall side on, his eyes never leaving Dumbledore. She could see the fine tremors that wracked his body, the horrendous, _obscene_ turmoil of his will as if laid bare for her eyes alone.

Her expression blazed, and her presence seemed to expand, dark power – carnal and the height of sophistication all at once – exuded from her body, until she seemed like unto a goddess, one of pure evil, and pure allure.

"_Tobias." _She purred, a siren call.

And he went.

He did not look at Dumbledore, could not look at him, but simply turned, and moved towards her, as though she were all that existed in his world, a world that had been torn apart.

He stopped mere inches from her staring straight into her eyes, and she into his. He, the drowning man, eyes despairing, she the mermaid, come to seep him from this world, looking upon him with a cruel love.

With a possessive hand, she caressed his cheek, curling it around the back of his head, and he came willingly, falling into her kiss with desperate submission.

Cruel love. She loved all those subservient to her, and was a jealous mistress. Her possessive, beautiful dominance of him was incredible to watch, and the entire hall ceased to exist, a single moment with bated breath.

Then her eyes flickered upwards, challenged Dumbledore with a cruel jest, even as she pulled Tobias deeper into her hold, and he countering with equal dark fervour.

Dumbledore stood frozen, unmoving, eyes wide as he saw the one he had worked so hard for, that tremendous power pool, falling from his grasp even as he watched.

Finally the Lady broke the kiss, gasping as she pulled her head up, like a cobra rearing, her hair flaring about her face like a hood.

"_Mine." _She hissed.

"_Gods_." Dumbledore heard Minerva whisper in horrified consternation.

Still, Tobias could not turn to face Dumbledore; instead, he walked past the Lady, climbing the staircase till he was enfolded by the ranks of the Wolves. He could not meet the eye of any of them; he was so ashamed of his weakness.

The Lady stood proudly, neck arched back as she looked upward to regard Dumbledore.

He could not, _would not_ attempt an attack now, not with those twelve monsters standing above the Hall, ready to annihilate so many young lives in the name of their Lady.

"I would say that you disgust me, Albus," She said, her voice soft and cooing once more, "but I believe that coming from one such as me, that would have little effect on you."

A slow smirk spread across her lips.

"I will not be so crude as to remove him from here as presumptuously as you did from my house, as I would be well within my rights to, since you broke the ancient laws of possession. Oh no. I would offer, but I suspect, after what you have done, he would refuse to leave."

She had, of course, noticed the ring Tobias wore at all times, in all the years he had been living in her world. She didn't know what it was, but having asserted that the strange power the thing held was not harmful, left it.

She had, she knew now, done the right thing, for the removal of the ring had done _this_ to the boy.

Albus released a slow, imperceptible breath of relief.

"However, know this." Her voice was cruel, harsh. "You may have the boy for now, but my inclination was to remain out of this war. You have aroused my ire, Albus, and such a theft will not go unpunished."

She smiled, slowly, and turned, and prowled gracefully out of the hall, her wolves, and Tobias, falling in behind her.

Once they were in the Entrance Hall, without halting or looking back, she said imperiously; "Tobias, come, walk with me... outside, I think, is best."

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**Hogwarts Hallways**

**-----------**

It was much later that night, at about one o'clock in the morning, that a group of laughing, joking, tipsy Seventh Years stumbled out into the hallways, making loud _hush_ noises to each other before bursting into bouts of giggles.

It had been a tradition, ever since Evonne had snuck a bottle of wine into the castle during first year, to gather, drink and wander the castle on Halloween. The group was large, large enough to encompass both Draco and Evonne, as well as students from all four houses who had formed the pact in first year, before politics had interfered.

Marie, the short, dark, curvaceous friend of Evonne's, infamous for her coquettish, attractive personality, stumbled to one of the large, arching windows that overlooked the rolling green hills that lead down to the lake. She gasped, squealed, then spun, gesturing wildly to the group to come join her.

Curious, open to anything, they did so.

Draco glanced nonchalantly down the window, tossing his head as he did so, then froze, his breath caught in an exhalation of alcohol-induced dramatic irritation.

There, close enough to be clearly visible in the light of the full, Tobias was emerging from the lake, openly naked, shaking his hair roughly. But that wasn't what had halted them all in their tracks.

The Lady's wolves, the most incredibly deadly, beautiful, insanely sensual beings from a world full whores, assassins, performers, spies and decadence, were sprawled by the shore of the lake, naked in the moonlight, engaged in an orgy of nearly supernatural allure.

One of them flowed to her feet, pale limbs perfect and beautiful in the moonlight, her curves shimmering, obviously having been in the water at some point, and beckoned to Tobias.

Every single one of them, like dark tigers and lionesses, had arched, turned, spun, and was regarding the boy with what could only be called anticipation.

The Lady was nowhere to be seen.

Tobias went to them.

Draco lost track of the time, of how long they stood there, enthralled by the forbidden sexuality of it, and finally, Evonne spun to face the rest of them, her speech slurred with alcohol, but also arousal.

"Gods … he's beautiful."

Among all the earthly gods and goddesses that were the Lady's Wolves, it was he, the Potter twin, whom had mesmerized them.

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Unbeknownst to them, or to the thirteen debauched, lovely creatures on the shores of the lake, Dumbledore also observed, from high above, Severus, Minerva, Lily and James with him.

"We are going to lose him, Albus." It was Lily's voice, defeated, sounding at almost a whisper, as if she didn't want to talk at all.

"No." He replied, voice grave. "You never had him." He sighed, looking down and turning. "But he will remain here, because Daniel needs him, needs the strength of their twin bond, and we cannot allow the twin of the one who may save us all to be exploited and used against us by those with dark hearts."

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A/N

Thankyou so much everyone for bearing with me. I know it has been a ridiculously long time since I have last updated.

But, perhaps as an encouragement, Tobias does not remain at Hogwarts for long, probably not even for the duration of the next chapter. And there will be much more action and plot and other delightful things in the next chapter.

Any words, singular or plural, of encouragement, suggestion, or constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.

Thankyou.


	9. ∫ Inexpiable: dreams of wrath ∫

_**Malignant Objects.**_

_**Warning**__**: This story contains both slash and het. The contents of this chapter may offend some of the readers, being non-con, violent, but not hugely graphic. If this bothers you, you can, option A) Cease reading, or, option B) Review or email me, and I'll send you the information significant to the plot that you will have missed. **_

_**Chapter Title**__**: Inexpiable**_

_**Definition:**_

_in·ex·pi·a·ble adj_

_1. not to be expiated; not allowing for expiation or atonement: an inexpiable crime. _

_2. implacable: inexpiable hate._

_**3. so bad that it cannot be atoned for**_

_4. __Implacable._

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_**Flashback: 2 years prior.**_

_**-------------**_

_Amber eyes glittered in the dark, moonless night. He stood within the broken beams and shattered walls of a mansion that looked as if it had been torn apart. Velvet drapes hung like the black, swooping, twisted wings of a dead bird, and old portraits lay haphazardly across cracked marble. _

_Breathing heavily he looked down into the descending blackness of the trapdoor located in the centre of the floor. It led down, down into the ancient caverns that had been the den of the largest, and most powerful pack of werewolves in Britain for centuries. _

_Sweat trickled down his chest as and his head turned in a graceful, dangerous arch, glancing back over his shoulder, taking in the crowds following him. Fierce, heavily muscled, and werewolves all, the men and women were half-insane with the pack fervour that their leader had inspired._

_A glimmer of teeth glinted through his lips, and he stepped down onto the stairs. Howling toward the skies, visible through the broken floors above him, he descended into the underground lair of the werewolves of Britain, his supporters flanking him like an inhuman army of half-naked beasts. Even the women went bare-breasted._

_It was insanity as they arrived. The torchlight flickered off the rough, earthen walls of the corridors, the terrifying howls and screams of the challengers and challenged echoing. Wild-eyed men and women watched as Lupin entered the gigantic underground cavern, his eyes flashing violently._

_Once, this man had been a kind, gentle, intelligent boy, utterly terrified of what he was. He had been a boy who denied his own nature, and this he now realized. _

_His own kind had taught him otherwise._

_The wolf had made the man he possessed more than a man. Embracing the carnal, primitive power of the monster had made Lupin an emerging power for and of the war torn political landscape of the magical world. _

_He was still the man he had been, except in times such as these, times when he had to let the animal rule his thoughts and body, not only to simply survive, but to dominate. He believed he would do good, and that was all that mattered._

_And he was here to lay claim to the most powerful were-pack in the world - the werewolves of Britain, currently lead by The Cannibal, Fenrir Greyback._

_And he was there, barefoot and half naked, this giant beast of a man, sweating, chest heaving with the adrenalin of testosterone, inside the clear circle created by the ravening hordes of his pack, his eyes glaring like insane beacons at the lean, still Lupin._

_As Lupin entered the circle, moving forward fluidly, the drums started up. An intense, primal noise thudded through the cavern and its carnal, feral movement stilled the screams of even these, the most aggressive strand of magical humanoid beings._

_Thus the most ancient of their rituals began _

_Lupin flung his head back, long trailing strands of blond hair tracing a deep arc through the air. He may have been adored by the werewolves, respected and feared for his deadly intellect and empathic nature, but it was Fenrir they followed for none could hope to challenge his sheer physical strength – the highest standard of status within werewolf society._

_Deadly, heightened awareness of superhuman senses flooded the chamber as the watching masses stilled, and Lupin's mind accelerated. His feet left the ground, slammed down, and dust flung upwards, a deep thump echoing amidst the booms of the drums._

_Hundreds of inhumanly gleaming eyes watched unblinkingly._

_Quick as a snake, Lupin darted forward; a clawed hand striking forwards to slash The Cannibal's face. Fenrir threw his head to one side, screaming as he retaliated, his sharp blow to Lupin's side sending the slighter man flying._

_Lightening-quick, the tawny man rolled to his feet, in a crouch, his hands running through the golden-coloured dust of the floor his eyes coolly appraising his opponent._

_Now, play. Measures had been taken neither found wanting - the fight could not be won by strength or swiftness alone. No, heightened thoughts and primitive urges dominated a fight to the death in which the slightest error could result in instantaneous death._

_It was a toying, teasing, deadly play: dodges and blows, ferocious swipes and immense power._

_An image seized in Lupin's mind amid the animalistic thoughts induced by the violence … and held._

_In one smooth moment, as Fenrir hurtled through the space between them, Lupin crouched and flung his hand upward, fingers outstretched, a cloud of sand propelled towards him. _

_In the single instant of distraction, Lupin sprung forward, savagely thrusting up and out, hitting the huge man directly in the torso, wrapping his arms around him and bearing him to the ground._

_A brutal, raking blow, and Fenrir's left eye spurted blood, now useless. A furious scream emanated from him, shaking his body with its ferocity as he rolled, crushing Lupin beneath him. The drums beat. The crowds roared, bloodlust highlighting their every sense, many already so lost to the beast. They were rutting and fighting in amidst the pulsing, insane crowd._

_Lupin struggled, trapped beneath the impossibly heavy weight of the alpha leader of _the_ pack. His throat pinned down, slowly asphyxiating, the blood pouring from Fenrir's eye covering him in dark red as his vision went pitch black._

_There was a sudden shriek of pain; a surge of movement, and Fenrir shuddered, an odd, helpless whine streaming from his throat._

_Complete stillness._

_A moment passed, and then another._

_Then, from under the great hump that was the collapsed, rigid Fenrir emerged the blood-soaked, naked, ferocious form of what could now possibly be the most powerful werewolf in the world._

_Remus Lupin. Made savage by the pure need to survive amidst the deadly world of his own kind._

_The crowd screamed fierce joy._

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**Present Day – The Stronghold of the Dark Lord**

**--------------------**

"They keep their women human. Their broodmares. No female _Were_ has ever carried a child to full term. Yet they mate for life, within the packs, I mean, not the ones who try to live within human civilization, the pack-weres, the ones who live in the wild. In the packs, they marry for … love, or whatever it is they feel, and the males keep broodmares on the side. In a curious turn of fate, the human females kept for breeding tend not to object. They are not treated cruelly; their value is too high to risk damaging, and, I am told, the actual physical act of sex with a werewolf is very … _gratifying _for the human female. It does take a very special type of woman to survive as the broodmare to a werewolf, but those who survive tend to not only survive, but thrive in the primitive, more carnal environment created by the pack."

The Dark Lord's eyes glimmered in amusement for a moment at the curious manner in which his aid related this information to him – it was, he thought, rather like an awestruck textbook.

Gracefully, he inclined his head in dismissal, and, in turn, the aid respectfully, silently and swiftly left the audience chamber.

The rich, aristocratic-looking family had arrived minutes before, and would soon be admitted into the audience chamber at the Dark Lord's pleasure.

It was rather odd to see a _single_ richly, yet nevertheless, conventionally dressed werewolf who came from the so-called 'wild' packs, let alone an entire family. But this particular family was special. For several generations they had served as the ambassadors for the British pack - the ones who were sent when there was a need for alliance or diplomatic relations.

Times such as this.

Idly, he wondered if they would demand the release of the Alpha, Remus Lupin, from his dungeons. Logically, he knew they could not. They had no bargaining chip stronger than the leverage that holding the Alpha gave him.

But then again, werewolves were known for an oft-deadly unpredictability when it came to pack loyalty.

He turned slowly, waiting in the centre of the unusually empty chamber, as his much-feared Doorman opened the grand doors, allowing the family entrance.

There was the father, Vincent Valmores, an impressive, rugged man with dark, sharp features. His mate, Isabella, walked by his side, not on his arm, as etiquette generally demanded of the higher classes, but separate from him, her black-skinned face proud and sleek.

Behind them walked the three children, triplets, two boys and a girl. Zacarius, Zander, and Zoë.

As one smoothly trained set, the family halted ten feet from the Dark Lord and bowed together. The women did not curtsey, but bowed as the males did.

Not one bent their heads – to expose the neck was the ultimate sign of subjugation to the werewolf.

The Dark Lord acknowledged this courtesy with an infinitesimal dip of his head.

"We will support you."

_Ah. How he loved Werewolf politics. The most complex and significant of matters, which took days and days with any other species, were settled in a matter minutes._

"On the conditions discussed previously, we demand certain territories, the right to command our own troops under the directions of your commanders, and to directly appeal to you in the case of a military disagreement during the fighting. After the war –"

"You will be granted equal rights with the purebloods as a fully magical being, and given a seat on the council as representative of your race. The right to govern your race according to your own laws and traditions, given they do not conflict with those of ours, unless given special dispensation. It is, I presume, all too your satisfaction in the written contract itself?" The Dark Lord pronounced smoothly, eyes dangerously cold.

"Aye. It is indeed … my lord."

"Then all should be settled," The Dark Lord's voice was dark honey, a voice weighted with mocking power.

For a moment, he saw something flicker in the Werewolf's eyes. Unable to examine Vincent's mind without jeopardising the support of the Werewolves, he might have let it go … if he had been any other man.

In an instant - a dark whirling instant of incomprehensibly swift movement, the werewolf was slammed against the far wall of the chamber, the stone walls cracking around him. The Dark Lord standing below him, arm outstretched, pinioning him there with magic so extraordinarily powerful Vincent could barely breathe.

A similar ball of whirling energy held the snarling family back.

When he spoke, Lord Voldemort's voice was a soft, seductive purr, modulated to the rhythm of his slow, menacing steps forward.

"Was there something else, wolf?"

_Such danger. Such fear. Such ... Power._

Throat so tight the veins were snapping out like cordons, Vincent Valmores knew he would die if he gave a negative answer.

"Just … a thought … of our, our, Alpha… my lord." The words tore from his constricted throat, his dark eyes flashing with rage.

"Ah…." The Dark Lord's arm slowly lowered, the magic slowly, delicately winding back down into his body.

"I will not release him simply on good faith, you understand." A slight arch to the eyebrow, a dangerous tone in his voice, his eyes crackling with barely restrained power, in sharp contrast to his cool, courteous words.

"Yes, I understand. It was but a thought." The werewolf panted, on all fours.

A dark, perilous smile on his face, the Dark Lord inclined his head, and motioned for the family to leave.

With animals such as this, a show of sheer strength was needed to remind them of whom they dealt with.

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**Hogwarts, Dumbledore's Office:**

**-------------------**

Not for the first time, Albus Dumbledore wished they had never let Remus Lupin go.

Mere days after he had realized that Sirius Black had left and had no intentions of ever returning, the werewolf himself disappeared.

James had been crushed. His family had been torn apart and his two best friends had disappeared, the third had become a traitor. Of course with Sirius, there had been a blazing row, the two, volatile best friends screaming old, deep insults at one another as Sirius protested the abandonment of the godson to whom he had become, in James' opinion, ridiculously attached to. The quarrel had only worsened with James' refusal to give guardianship to Sirius, for fear for Sirius' life.

With Remus, it had been quieter. James was the only one left of the three people the werewolf had loved most in the world and already James threw himself obsessively into the hunt for the remaining Death Eaters and his entire family was dealing with immediate fame and whirlwind propaganda of having their son vanquish the Dark Lord; and the werewolf had seen no place for himself in that world. There was only a future of discrimination and difficulty. One night, he slipped away, leaving a single note for James.

For the first couple of years nothing, not a trace of either Sirius or Remus, and then they had started hearing reports about a notorious band of mercenaries, led by a mysterious and infamously seditious bounty hunter. As more reports came in, at different times, from different sources, it was slowly revealed, not only to the Order, but to the world at large that this dubious celebrity was, in fact, the Gryffindor scion of the much-feared Black family.

All attempts at contact had failed miserably.

_Remus Lupin_.

Now, Remus Lupin Albus would never have suspected of containing such potential. The world of the werewolves was extremely secretive, hidden from public view, but to those with particular interests in the goings-on of one of the world's most dangerous species, it was possible to gain reports of the movements of the wild packs.

The packs were much more than the general view of them as near-animals, dangerous and rag-tag beings banded into ineffectual groups, preying on the borders of society.

No, there was a great many of them, an entire secret society hidden within the secret Wizarding world, with old traditions and laws and a fierce sect of incredibly loyal, violently private beings devoted only to the cry of the power of the pack, that no logic or rationality could explain or control.

Denied rights by the Wizarding World, they had formed their own.

Most recently, a new, young Alpha had emerged. One who was not only concerned with the strength, privacy and defence of the packs' secret, but also a dangerously intelligent and ambitious werewolf, with a mind to influence the outcome of the war, in the favour for the rights of his race.

This leader had become one to be reckoned with, more than any Alpha had ever been before. He organized the packs into a fiercely effective and ordered army, making possible what had never been before; the major powers in the coming storm of war could now play for the support of this most vicious race.

It was only when the Alpha had been captured by the Dark Lord, in an incredible feat that had required the Dark Lord's own private squad, his Changelings, as they were called, to organize and execute the operation, that it had been revealed just who this leader was.

_Remus Lupin._

The Order had been utterly shocked. The young, quiet, and well-mannered boy, wracked with guilt over his condition, had broken free from his shell of societal restraint, and rise farther than any werewolf had ever managed before.

If only Albus could sacrifice one of his own people, to do a swap with the Dark Lord for Remus, the support of the werewolves would make a phenomenal difference. Such exchanges of 'prisoners of war' – for they were called such even if war had not officially begun yet - had been done before, but never with one as unpredictably important as the Alpha.

He could have offered Harry – Severus had reported to him the Dark Lord's unusual interest in the boy – but he had fought to hard to keep him, and believed too much that the boy's raw power could be a, if not _the,_ significant factor in the Boy-Who-Lived's, in Daniel's, victory over the Dark Lord.

All in all, Albus came to one simple conclusion.

The Light should never have let Remus Lupin go.

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**Hogwarts, the Hallways:**

**--------------------**

Evonne hurried down the hallway, robes fluttering behind her as she chanced a quick glance over her shoulder.

A small white note in her hand shook as light tremors of nervousness ran through her body. Blood thundered through her ears with ridiculous fervour. This could be it - an easy chance to prove herself to the Dark Lord without having to swear her life and soul, or do something terrible, something she, as much as she pretended, could not yet do.

She had been ordered that when the werewolves contacted her for help – as they probably would due to her childhood friendship with one who was now a part of the wild packs – she was to help them. The orders had not specified what the werewolves would ask for or how to help them, so she was adapting to the best of her ability.

What they asked had shocked her, as much as intrigued her, especially as the Dark Lord had ordered her to obey.

They wanted to capture Harry Potter.

He seemed to be a rather valuable commodity these days. She could half-understand why, what with him being the twin brother to the Light's supposed saviour, and son of the two most powerful enemies of the Dark Lord, but … He was so utterly, infuriatingly _ineffectual_, in fact, she had barely noticed him apart from his strange sexual attraction. But nonetheless, if the Dark Lord wanted Harry Potter, the Dark Lord would get him.

It was only a few of days till the end of term, and as she was leaving, and Harry staying, this had to be completed quickly if she was to gain any credit for it at all.

A movement flickered out of the corner of her eye and she gasped, jumping back accidentally knocking one of the Knights, a terrible clanging noise ringing out through the hallway.

Mrs Norris crept out from behind a tapestry, her great yellow eyes staring unblinkingly at Evonne. A small, amused sigh escaped from Evonne as she knelt, producing a dead rat, procured precisely for these circumstances.

The pathetic creature mewled in delight, snatching the carcass and retreating back behind the tapestry, tail twitching warningly.

Evonne's eyebrows twitched.

Eyes flickering upward, she quickly rose, moving towards the window. Owls were no good these days; all letters incoming and outgoing were checked, and, if by chance any owl slipped out unchecked, there was a magical net designed specifically to halt any un-approved letters.

Deftly folding the note into a basic paper plane, she drew her slender, delicate wand, and performed an intricate, rather lovely spell, and a light puff of wind swirled into existence in front of her.

Carefully sliding the note through the slit in the window and holding it there, she murmured a cool command, and the ball of swirling air flew out the slit, and the plane took off, gliding beatifically down over the grounds, descending in an arc, exactly into the branches of one particular tree.

Her job done, Evonne returned to her dormitory and did not sleep at all that night.

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**Night, The Forbidden Forest:**

Stalking through the Forbidden Forest with an unnatural silence, the seven werewolves chosen for this mission emerged from darkness into the moonlight of a small clearing.

Two nights till full moon and the dark, ancient magic contained within their mortal bodies reacted, volatile yet controllable, werewolf claws and fangs emerged, sliding painfully from flesh and blood, eyes glowing in the night with unwavering fanaticism.

And there it was: The little piece of white paper, fluttering gently in the tree, soft scent of magnolia and sweet young girl wafting down to contrast with the scents of the forest.

One of them leapt forward, climbing the tree with fluid ease, snatching the note from the branch on which it was caught, and then leaping straight down to the ground.

"She assures us he will take his little walk in the forest tonight. His supplies have been diminished significantly, purposely, by her."

The boy, Evonne had found and dutifully reported, had been carefully sneaking down to the edges of the forest, collecting an illegal plant well-known for suppressing withdrawal from highly addictive drugs such as Unicorn Powder, miscellaneous muggle drugs and Essence of Phoenix.

Spreading out along the perimeter of where the rare plant was found, only fifty metres or so into the forest, the werewolves alternately crouched in readiness, reclined in trees or stood hiding, each according to their preference.

One of them, little more than a child, held a single syringe, filled with a sedative, hallucinogenic drug, waiting, curled around a branch that arched over the entrance to the small clearing where the plant grew.

Each held a similar syringe, in case the young one failed.

Moments before the boy entered the clearing, his scent crept through the clearing, seductive, dark, and … something else. Distinctly unsettled, the werewolves nonetheless held their position as Tobias came into view, eyes vacant, mind elsewhere, lost in his own world of thoughts. He moved gracefully as a cat, lightly stepping below the branch where the were-boy lay…

…And froze, his eyes snapping back to reality an instant before the dark figure plummeted onto him, a line of ice-cold fire jabbing into his neck.

The world spun as the drug immediately took effect; grotesque purple, acid green, bruised yellows and blinding golds, monsters descended on him, eyes flaming terrifying orange, voices deep, beast-like nightmarish grunts – then pure blackness.-

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Strange voices whirled around him, consciousness returned, but oh what a consciousness it was, his eyes seemed dizzy and the world shook with impossible shapes and colours.

Before he fell back into unconsciousness again, he heard voices.

"You sure he's worth it?"

"He better be. Valmores heard the Lord's courtiers talking of how peculiarly interested He seems with the boy."

"Well we've softened up the Dark Lord by agreeing to follow him – "

"- He shouldn't need much now to swap him for someone who'll give him an advantage over those he doesn't yet have."

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"Hmm. Do you feel it?"

"Yeah, course I do."

"What d'ya think it means?"

"No idea – but he's important, remember, even the vampires like him, and _they_ don't like anyone."

"But it's not anything…" A frustrated snarl.

"Not anything mortal, magical or animal. I know, we just _feel _it."

"So what do we do?"

"Stick to the fucking plan. We do this and we get _him_ back. That's all that matters."

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**Stronghold of the Dark Lord:**

**---------------**

Walden MacNair, the head of the dungeons of the Dark Lord, in charge of the care, comings, goings and importance of all slaves, political prisoners, witnesses, experimental victims and prisoners of war, prostrated himself in front of the Dark Lord, presenting an official parchment.

Elegant fingers grasped the parchment, cool eyes scanned the words, and handsome mouth smiled slowly.

"Agreed." It was a command, praise and dismissal in a single word.

MacNair bowed even lower, and backed out of the Dark Lord's private study.

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An exchange of prisoners, while rare, was a serious business and there was a centuries-old, well-established method for it.

Quite simply, it was a most primitive method, protected by the most sophisticated magic.

A pulley. A pulley that, once initiated, was impossible to halt or interfere with until the full circle was completed.

The Dark Lord's stronghold had one such system. The wards around this one particular section of the walls opened in a magnificently visible gate of darkly glittering magic, revealing a square block of ebony wood, with leather, magic straps into which the beautiful, unconscious, lolling body of Tobias was strapped, his clothes torn from the werewolves' primitive search for weapons or valuables.

One hundred metres away, they saw their Alpha being similarly strapped in by hooded and cloaked figures. The minute both prisoners were properly placed, the enormous pulley activated automatically and began to move, a ponderous yet sleek movement of two bodies of similar value.

The enormous blocks slowly pulled towards each other, towards the halfway point.

Remus Lupin, bruised and savagely beaten from a pure, savage unwillingness to simply lie quiescent in his cell, was barely able to keep his eyes open as he drew closer to the damned soul who was entering the dungeons of the Dark Lord which he was now escaping.

A flow of uncontrolled energy hit Remus, almost overwhelming him as Tobias' drugged, unrestrained mind and body left his dark, seductive powers running rampant about him.

A small flicker of the boy's eyes, and they opened slowly, languidly, to look straight into Remus' face as the passed one another.

Remus' mind screamed in recognition.

_Dear gods, no!_

Remus recognized that face. He had heard about the recovered Potter twin from his prison and rejoiced silently, a small light of victory in his mind from a past life, amidst the despair and fury of his new one.

_Remus' own people were sacrificing the boy to save him._

A scream, terrible and anguished tore itself from the powerful, ruthless, leader of the werewolves' throat. He was reduced to flying memories of the innocent boy-child who had been abandoned, and was now being lost again, to the tender mercies of the Dark Lord's slavers.

He himself had been untouched, apart from beatings when he rebelled, due to his position as a significant political prisoner. He had even talked face to face with a gracious and courteous Dark Lord, who had punished the men responsible for beating him so badly yet still did not bother to heal the werewolf's own wounds.

Tobias' eyes widened, reality snapping into place momentarily as he watched the freed prisoner protesting desperately.

_But why? _His dizzy mind murmured.

Then reality was once again lost to the hallucinations, his mind and magic cracked open by the unstable properties of drug.

On any normal witch or wizard, the drug would act as a normal sedative used to confuse and befuddle the victim. But to Tobias, his mind so vulnerable and torn open, so removed from his own will and strength already, the drug had rendered his innate, raw, and _dark_ powers uncontrollable, and they radiated off him with an uncontrolled strength.

His seductive, violently dark aura was extending around him like a dark cloud of overwhelming basic lust.

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**Dungeons of the Dark Lord:**

**------------------**

The dungeons of Lord Voldemort were extensive, as was their political influence, both within and without the castle walls.

Even within the prisoners themselves there were levels and layers of status and power. At the base were the muggles, kept for experimentation: scientific, magical, and physical. Of all the prisoners, these were the closest to mere animals.

Tortured and experimented upon, many of them were so disfigured and grotesque that they barely resembled anything recognisably human.

The prisoners of war came next: Those tortured and pumped for information, oft-timesplaced under _imperio _and sent back from whence they came. War was not yet declared, but there was underground fighting and espionage games, assassins and power plays – for it was very clear to any power, be it nation, race or individual sects, that the Dark Lord intended war.

Then there were the sex slaves, very different from the courtesans, from those willing, exotic sexual creatures. These were those captured and kept specifically for their attractiveness, most kept drugged out of their minds on aphrodisiacs and sensory heighteners.

Painted dolls, they lolled, shackled in their opium dens and cells, as Tobias was taken, semi-conscious, through the dungeons of the Dark Lord, waiting for any who resided in the Dark Lord's castle to come and take their pick. Useless, or superfluous prisoners of war were often also available to those with a taste for more violent tendencies.

In the uppermost levels were the political prisoners. These were kept separate, safe and well-treated, under maximum guard, forbidden to access unless with special permission. Even in prison, the more influential, such as the Alpha Remus Lupin, could influence others, be they prisoners, guards or courtiers of the Dark Lord, who were always looking for possible advantages.

As Tobias was floated to his cell, which was to be an isolated, high-security chamber, he moved through the complex levels and systems of the dungeons, passing all kinds of prisons, from the luxurious rooms of the favoured sex slaves to the stone-walled, empty cells of those suffering various tortures. Wheels, shackles, racks … the screams echoed through the halls of that horrific, despairing level of the dungeons.

Still half-drugged, his movements slow and unreal to his own senses, Tobias stumbled into his cell; the world whirling, wondering _where the hell he was._

Shoved to his knees, he fell onto all fours, shoulders shaking with suppressed pain. He felt bile rising in his throat and didn't resist.

Walden MacNair watched from outside the magical bars as the exquisitely built boy vomited, his shredded clothes slipping, revealing planes of flesh as he shuddered, falling over onto his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

MacNair was a powerful man, hugely built, with an incredible mental discipline for pain, and for the causing of such. He was not prepared, however, for the insidious, creeping tendrils of lust that exuded from Tobias' unconscious, uncontrolled, hallucinating mind.

MacNair ran a shaking hand through his dark, cropped hair, irresistibly, subconsciously entranced by the dark magic exuded, enamoured of every shuddering breath of the boy, of the striking, brilliant, somehow … menacing _acid _green of the eyes in the darkness, he moved through the magical bars, consumed by the sudden, unnatural but frantic lust pounding through his veins.

Unaware of the impending danger, Tobias swam within his own world, a world of tumultuous, insane thoughts, and the body-wracking withdrawal pains from the dangerously addictive drugs that had always been within such easy reach inside the dark underworld of the Lady.

The open maelstrom of his thoughts and powers created by the hallucinogenic made easy prey of his mind, already made vulnerable by the shocks imposed upon it by Albus Dumbledore.

And yet, through all this, he felt a powerful, roughened hand sliding across his body, the hot presence of another body, and the chills prickled his flesh, a sense of defilement, just from that single touch he had never experienced as a whore ripping through his mind.

Never, in his entire life, had he been so much as _touched_ sexually without absolute influence over outcome or actions of the customer – such was the life of the Lady's whores, even in abject sexual submission, they were always able to manipulate and control the patron, _no matter what_.

Always, _always_ before he had been in complete sexual control of himself and _everyone_ around him.

Then suddenly the touch was gone, and the sense of something terrible averted pervaded him as blissful darkness took him.

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MacNair stumbled out of the cell, called suddenly and horrifically to his senses by a call from one of his guards.

_The boy was under the same protection given a high status political prisoner._ How could he have forgotten that, even for a single moment? If the Dark Lord even suspected disobedience, he would be torn limb from limb by his own dogs.

MacNair knew. He had witnessed the punishment the previous Prison Warden had suffered for abusing the hostage youngest great-granddaughter of Nicholas Flamel.

Yet, that night he dreamt dreams spun from his darkest, basest desires, disturbing images of forbidden, unacknowledged fantasy that irresistibly pervaded his mind, the seeds of such sexual desire prompted into life by the dark, self-destructive power of Tobias.

_He couldn't stop thinking about him_: That dark, helpless, anguished boy lying in his prison seemed to invade every thought every moment every minute.

For three days he resisted, until, inevitably, he was drawn back to the cell, back to that dark, obsessive storm of lust that _exuded_ itself from the unaware, trance-like Tobias.

He stood there for what seemed like hours, watching, mesmerized, and held frozen in deadlock by his desire and fear.

That night, he returned. No one else had seen the boy, locked in the forbidden, high-security cell that was his, and his own jurisdiction – no one else had been inflected by this otherworldly lust.

He walked the underground hallways, torchlight flickering off his tall, strong form, coat swinging behind him with every frantic, inevitable step.

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**---------------**

**----------------**

For three days, Tobias had lain in his cell, wracked with pain and near-madness, curled into a shivering ball, eyes wide and unmoving for hours on end.

Now, past the worst of it, he did not wish to emerge into true clarity. His consciousness was still vague, and his thoughts still half-clouded.

He lay on his back, arms outstretched against the cool, dark floor. His chest, rising and falling with slow, deep, and desperate breaths, bared to the freezing air through the rents of his ragged clothing.

Green, half-insane eyes snapped open in terror, so wide the entire, brilliant iris was exposed.

He thought, begged God, Lucifer, _anyone_ that he was imagining it when he felt a hand, harsh and cold, running down his leg.

(_Was it the same hand again?_)

He denied the feeling of _wrong _and _never _and _please, no _until he felt that taint again. That helplessness had surged through his abused body and wrecked the fragile foundations of sanity. He did his best to ignore the invaded and forced shudder of rasping skin against bleeding skin.

(_Begged but he would never admit it, not even to himself) _that it would disappear like every other human contact he had hallucinated in the lost hours of a drug and a feeling he had never wanted.

Only it didn't.

Unable to cry out or scream _(his throat was suffocated, choked by a hand he didn't know)_, he existed, barely breathing through that single perilous moment of dreadful _knowing. _

He could barely stay conscious and yet he _had to._

The dark feelings of intense filthiness, of_ good in all the wrong ways_ were humming through his near-to-breaking nerves.

If this was going to happen _(and, oh, yes it was, of course it would, how could it not?)_, he would remember _every_ moment: every harsh graze of skin against unwilling skin. He'd remember another body on his without his consent, another in control of him in a way he had never, ever allowed, when he was never so weak, when he had never been so _corrupted_.

Corrupted, spoiled, debauched and all out of his hands. This place, this creature, these feelings were all beyond his control and he hated it. Hated every time his body shuddered and arched to the touch, whether in pain or pleasure he didn't care. He hated each whimper and his from the bite of nails against his skin – freezing cold despite the thundering heat of his body.

The long, snaking black whip fell over and over from the giant man, made demon by the drugs racing through Tobias' veins. It fell; cleaving flesh and blood, horrific gashes marring his body over and over till the blood fell freely and the pain was a white hot torrent that burnt his mind beyond reason.

Pain that burnt his mind, seared through darkness and tears in his psyche and the terrible isolation of magical schisms. It brought back moments of similar natures. Humiliation soured his body as much as the angry, red lines across his body. He was here, prey to _this_ man and his desires. He was a hunter, a murdered, reduced to plaything. His mind recoiled tighter than his body at the thoughts.

_His mind… spiralled_: A rupture of himself he had not realized had been created those weeks ago, festering within him was now screaming through his veins and boiling under his skin: Retreat, run away, get away, just fucking_ MOVE!_

Touch. There was touch, so much touch, _too much _touch.

And blood, _so much blood_, rivers and tears of it, mingling with the actual salty water that traced along his cheeks and fell to the pool on his chest and cold, agonizingly real stone floor.

The pain of the raking nails cutting through his flesh felt like convulsions of hate, tearing a piece of him away as he shuddered for more, as he shivered to what his body was so used to _taking_, not being_ forced upon him_.

A dark, dark scream of lust and he couldn't see anymore, couldn't hear, couldn't feel beyond the hot flash of heat and betrayal as his body responded. Now, the monster was inside him, a desperate position of glorious subjugation, on his and knees and pushing back, _instinctually_ not pulling away and he coiled tighter around it, not knowing what he could do to change this even if he could have.

His head thrown back, forced by the hand in his hair. He could fight the grip as well as he could the cock in his body. He tightened around it even as he thought of, and despised it. The animalistic grunts in his ear were louder, more obscene, than ever and the grip forcing his neck closer to the hot, wet biting mouth tightened.

The cool saliva against his skin made him shiver and pant. His fingernails scraped against stone, clutching as the man rammed into him and he shoved back, helplessly enthrall within the drugs, and the primal act forced upon him.

_(More..Harder..Please…More) _Hungry, unwillingly hungry and though he hated it, he _desired_ it too. He couldn't let go, wasn't sure if he wanted to and he despaired because he couldn't say no to the body that took and took and he just couldn't stop it.

He wasn't sure he wanted to but the choice was gone and he _had_ to give and he hated to _have_ anything. _But he couldn't stop it._ The brutal strength of the heavy, heaving body above him terrified him, and that it terrified him …horrified him.

The hunger coiled above his pelvis, making him arch, head flung back, and want more, more, always _more_. He couldn't take and he knew even if he begged, he could not change what was happening to him. _Fuck!_ He moaned as the relentless, excruciating stroking within in him thrust against his prostate.

He thrashed, trapped within his mind and body.

It didn't matter because the hand only gripped tighter and the man only pushed in deeper and harder. The tears streaked faster down his cheeks along with the sweat, and the blood. His desire rose higher in him, as did his utter, base revulsion to it.

_Weak_. The dark insidious whisper of a voice he had nearly forgotten, a forsaken part of his _self _tore and wound its way back into his conscious mind.

_Yet…Too much and not enough. Take. _He was so hungry but for what? For what? What could make this anything more glorious as his body writhed for the beast that pierced him even as his mind and spirit rebelled, disgusted and longing.

Out of his control. _No choice._

World gone, physical touch of reality a dimension removed, and he was so disbelieving to all that had happened and how he _couldn't _and_ hadn't_ stopped all of it. He was down, drowning and descending, running away, and wanting to never turn back but knowing better.

Bloody, torn, ecstatic explosion of his plummeting mind.

Then … nothing. Stillness. It was …incomprehensibly… over.

No... It wasn't. Not over, never over. He felt it, that hot wetness inside him, coating his inner walls. He imagined the color of that murky white against his pink, tender skin and the scent of him tainted by this stranger's. Marked... He usually reveled in the evidence that he had done his job well but now, he shuddered at the proof that, for a moment, someone had mastered _him_.

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**----------------**

He couldn't believe he had been so touched, so wantonly used, no reason, no power, no will. But there had been_ want_. There had been longing. There had been gasps for something he instinctively knew could not be given by either of them. That was the worst thing to face.

He had wanted and had not been given. First time in a long time. The last time if he ever returned to face the world.

Never, never, never, _never._

Always, always, always … _oh,_ _always_.

Tobias, whore and being of the Lady, her Favoured, powerfully dark, seductive, dominant. _He had been raped and had not fought it off. _

He _couldn't have_, and that absolute loss of power tore him apart, then he betrayed himself beyond even that by the knowledge that he _wouldn't have, even if he could have._

That was all the mattered to the beautiful, deadly whore-murderer. He had always been the aggressor, the unholy taker and giver of pleasure in his own mind. He had never allowed anyone to take what was not offered first by him. Until now. Until here. Until _this._

And his mind, already half-broken, unrestrained and open, half-mad off drugs, could not comprehend or handle such a devastating emotional antithesis to everything he had ever been.

Madness … bloody madness of hysteria.

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_There were only two ways to go._

_Up and down._

_He could go down, forsake himself, float out of true consciousness and never return to the sheer physical torment of being._

_Or he could go up._

_An explosion of consciousness. An unstoppable, fierce upward dive, torrential, black fury blasting his path behind him through his mind._

_Find what they had taken from him and take it back._

_He went up._

_Into dangerous, searingly bright conception._

_Towards himself._

_As he fucking should be._

_-------------_

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And MacNair, stumbling away, breath ripping from his chest, still wrapped up in the whirlwind of mind-wrenching lust he had experienced, heard something that sent chills down his torturer's mind.

A soft, rippling laugh emanated from the cell, a laugh as cold as all hell and as beautifully corrupt as any sound he had ever heard.

And that sound was coming from the seemingly pitiful, broken creature that had been Harry Potter.

Horror screamed through him along with the first tendrils of that deadly lust.

…_What had he done?_

_-----------------_

_----------------_

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_Tobias Harold Grey _laughed and laughed until tears streamed down the etched skin of his face, mingling with the dark droplets of blood. He tilted his head back, the tremors of laughter wracking his body, soft, dark hair falling over eyes filled with a new, deadly, feral gleam.

The dark, velvety laugh escaped him, and he tilted his head back against the wall, the sharp planes of his cheeks glistening with the single trails of furious, frustrated tears falling from his cheeks to the floor.

He closed his eyes in furious anguish as he remembered the _weeks _spent … _pandering_ and _simpering_ to those sickening, sycophantic people, and their _fucking_ manipulating …

_**Crack**_

His head spun, and warm, thick blood trickled down his neck, but he didn't care. The searing pain of throwing his own head back against the stone wall helped, a little.

And still, _still_, after the shocking, lacerating, destruction his mind had suffered at the hands of the complete disempowerment of rape – a desperate laugh choked in his throat – after blasting back up from madness, from the chasm in his mind, he _still_ couldn't quite break free of whatever it was holding him back.

But almost. He _almost _had it.

And so, he laughed.

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Uncontrollable temptation.

Sin manifest, Tobias' power, had broken open and flooding the physical world around him, and, naturally, those of the darkest dreams and desires found their way to him, drawn by the unrepressed tendrils of seductive power and lust … entirely and undeniably _inevitable_.

Evan Rosier swept through the castle, an elegant, slender, man with stunning, wide blue eyes and long, soft curled golden hair.

He was recently returned from the corrupt court of magical France. His soft lips curved in memory of the wonderfully delicate … _art_ he had performed on the young, pretty son of the King's most influential adviser.

His effeminate robes flared around his hips as he walked, swaying slightly from side to side as he went straight from his report to the Dark Lord, down to the dungeons. It had been months since he had delighted himself within the Dark Lord's stronghold, and was rather ...pleasurably anticipating taking his pick of whatever new slaves had been captured.

As he descended the wide, stone stairs that lead to the dungeons, he paused, and slowly, silkily spun, prowling to the ajar, heavy door that lead to the high-security quarters.

Blue eyes wide and curious, he pranced lightly through the door, lips parted in cautious delight at the new mystery.

Evan Rosier, international spy and seducer of secrets for the Dark Lord, entered the forbidden area.

The torchlight flickered ominously along the curved hallway, the leaping flames the only movement he observed anywhere.

The minute he entered he felt it: A dark, alluring seductive power wrapped itself around him, pulling him forward. Astonished by the sheer delight he felt flooding his body, he willingly followed it to its source.

He came to the chamber from which this … incredibly lust was emanating and his eyes widened with the childlike enthralment he had mastered so well.

The most fascinating creature he had ever laid eyes upon hung from the ceiling, bloody and bruised, supported by shackles around his wrists, feet barely grazing the floor.

It was an expansive, perfectly circular and high-arched chamber. The floors and walls were made from a sleek, black, marble-like material that shimmered, mirror-like, with many-faceted reflections of the room, with golden, eerie torchlight whispering across the dark pools of blood spreading across the smooth floors.

It was one of the cells kept specifically for the high-profile political prisoners, designed and created expressly to confuse and reflect any search-magic or opportunity of contact with the outside world. The shackles were enchanted, descending seamlessly, snake-like, from the ceiling, to wind down around the limp, bleeding wrists like dark, binding tattoos.

Near him, strolled Bellatrix LeStrange, gloriously naked, her lithe, curving hips swaying effortlessly as she prowled around the prisoner. Her usually haughty eyes were mesmerized by the boy as she circled him, kissing and caressing every inch of that shivering, sweet skin.

Her long dark hair slid against his body, the blackness contrasting with the boy's pale skin, so harshly tinted with the dark crimson of his own blood. The deep purples and blues coloring his flesh made Evan ache with the torturous suggestion of the excruciating pleasure that she would have inflicted on this tarnished, begging boy.

A movement drew Evan's attention away, and he saw Rodolphus, her husband watching, eyes ablaze, dark leather whip in hand, unable to tear his eyes from the agonizingly alluring scene. His hair trailed across his shoulders, curling slightly, as his lips curved, moving forward in powerful, aggressive strides, taking his wife violently into his arms.

She fell backwards, her back arching incredibly, her mouth meeting his as he bent over her in a collision of lust and commitment that was as still the strongest Rosier had ever seen in all his travels and experience.

Rosier, judging from the state of the poor boy, assumed the he had suffered days of the never-ending sexual fantasies of the most powerful hierarchy of the Death Eaters, for he was sure the dark desire emanating from the boy was felt by all, but only those with enough influence would have gained access to him.

Indeed, the fascinated, trance-like state of the normally aloof, intimidatingly arrogant LeStranges was more than a little disquieting to the slender man.

Most who caught the attention of so many, so obsessively, especially of those such as the LeStranges did not last much longer than a few days, and their sanity even less.

Then the boy's head rose, slowly, his eyes indolently sliding open, dazzling green flashing in the torchlight, and Rosier, in the single lucid moment he had, saw the insane ruthlessness in those eyes, the dark cruelty of anguished, despairing _need _for vengeance, before lust clouded Evan's mind completely.

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Tobias reclined against the wall in his cell, smirking, and took a deep, satisfied breath of the cigarettes he had _acquired_ off one of the sex slaves.

Watching the smoke spiral away, he felt the flickers of despair, threatening his lucidity, felt the brittle front he had managed to create shake with barely contained disgust.

Fury flashed dark in his eyes as his mouth drew back in a snarl, baring his teeth.

Every time one of _them_ had him, it both shattered and sustained his mind. He could not, _would not_ tolerate it, and even while the despair threatened, the sheer black fury kept him upheld.

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A clang, footsteps, a frantic face, so unnaturally beautiful it was almost grotesque in its delicate symmetry.

Tobias stretches indolently, pulling another drag from the cigarette before dropping it, succumbing to the desperate lust the man suffered.

"Evan." He murmurs.

Within moments, Rosier has him magically bound, his face adoring as he gently caressed Tobias, purring obscene sweet nothings, and desperately touching every part of the boy's body he can reach.

Then comes the first, white-hot whip stroke, a slash of red, Tobias' back arching, gasping with pleasure for Rosier's amusement. Line after line of whip strokes, lovingly delivered, Rosier enamoured of Tobias' every masterful reaction.

He leans down, kisses Tobias hard on the lips. Tobias responds fiercely, wantonly, thrusting his hips upward against Rosier's. He is punished immediately for such forward action, a blow across the face that leaves his lip bleeding and eyes blazing.

Rosier's lip curls into a smile as he prowls around the boy, drinking up the sight of such beauty, not only under his domination, but, unwillingly, he believes, _enjoying _it.

Finally, he releases Tobias, who slides to the floor, shuddering, and looks up, his brilliant green eyes brimming with tears, full of beautiful, exquisite pain and delight.

It was more than Rosier can take; he is on him in an instant, artfully loving and tracing every inch of the boy's bruised and torn body. Tobias reacts in breathless movements, tentative reciprocate– just the way Rosier likes it, like a young boy, innocent, and unsure.

Against Rosier's sculpted, smooth shoulder Tobias smiles slowly, menace in every curve.

Within a few days, he Tobias knew, the man would be so completely, hopelessly enamoured of him that he would obey Tobias' every whim.

Some twisted form of Stockholm Syndrome, he presumes coldly, even as he moans with delight while Rosier roughly pushes him down, his mesmerizingly blue eyes dark with the menacing desire of the obsessed.

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**Tobias' Cell**

**--------------**

There were periods of lucidity, periods of madness, when the people who ravaged his mind and body force-fed him drugs and aphrodisiacs, periods where he thought he was almost himself again, times when he completely forgot anything but the constant cycle of torture, of desperately fulfilling every basest desire and obscene whim of the constant flow of smitten, lustful men and women.

And with every passing day, passing hour, every minute, he was driven deeper and deeper within himself, periods of lucidity becoming fewer and fewer even as he found the shattered parts of himself once more.

Darker and darker, ever more disturbed his mind went. Ever more lost in the corrupt paths of base sexual abuse and desire, in the insane hate of what his body suffered.

Days and days, endless hours of torture and rape.

Yet now he _knew. _Knew who he had been and would be again.

All he needed was… a catalyst.

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MacNair, and all those after him who had fallen to the fell powers of the boy, had been extremely fortunate in that after only a matter of hours after the Potter boy had been brought into the custody of the Dark Lord; their Master had been called away to India on a delicate issue of high confidentiality.

After three days, he had sent word that he intended to reside in India till the night of his Dark Masque, two weeks hence.

If the Dark Lord had remained within the castle, he would have almost certainly found the time to examine the young Potter boy. As it was, with the boy only a mere curiosity, a whim, as it were his mind turned to the more pressing matters of the strange ritual magics uncovered by one of his secret research centres…

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"He's _what?" _Albus' voice was thunderous, his eyes ice cold,

Severus remained impassive. He didn't ... couldn't add that not only was Harry Potter in the dungeons of the Dark Lord, but that half of Severus' peers had been raping the boy with insatiable lust for over a week.

It was too nightmarish, too sudden. How could the boy go from firmly under Dumbledore's thumb, quiescent and submissively held in Hogwarts, to being thrown into the very stronghold of the Dark Lord, suddenly, violently and unwillingly thrown into his old profession?

It was too oddly, unnaturally ironic to believe.

"How did he get there?" He was under control now, Severus could tell, intent on gaining as much knowledge on the situation as possible.

"The werewolves took him. Traded him for the Alpha –" He almost choked on the name, "Remus Lupin."

Deep, impotent frustration bubbled up inside Albus. He had _had _Harry, could have had either him or Remus, or _both!_ Now … he had _neither!_

As Albus strode from the room, Severus remained seated, coolly impassive, a sardonic glint in his eye. Even broken and submissive to Albus, Harry Potter had strewn chaos in his wake every since he had been forcibly re-admitted to the Wizarding World.

His eye caught on something; an elegant, golden ring, hovering and twisting in the centre of a small, glittering, spherical force field.

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**A/N **_Apologies for taking so long in getting this chapter out. Hope it lives up to expectations, and please, do review! _

_As always, all reviews, from a single word to con-crit are __**most**__ welcome. _

_Thanks, Charlie._


	10. √ ˙Torrential: all falls down˙√

_**Malignant Objects.**_

_**Warning**__**: This story contains both slash and het. **_

_**Chapter Title**__**: Torrential**_

_**Definition:**_

_tor·ren·tial adj_

_1.flowing or __**falling fast**__ and in great quantities_

_2.__**intense**__ or abundant (literary)_

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**The Stronghold of the Dark Lord**

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No ordinary ballroom, this. A bridge gracefully rose in an arc, spanning the small distance between the edge of the high, jagged cliff the Dark Lord's castle was built upon, and the enormous stretch of marble that hovered bare metres off the edge of the cliff, far above the violent crashing of the ocean against the rocks of the cliff.

The bridge sparkled like spun gossamer, twisted delicately into filigree that glowed with the magic keeping it in existence. It spread as it descended, creating a grand, vast entrance that lead down onto the imposing floor.

The marble was white, and black, like a chessboard of the gods, with ragged edges, as if it had been torn from its place of honour to float forever in the mortal world, stretching for what seemed like forever into the horizon, where a blood red sun slowly sank into the clouds.

Fluted pillars stretched to nowhere around the borders, with dark, luxuries couches and beds interspersed between them, decorated by reclining, barely clothed, seductive men and women.

One of them, a woman, clad in sheer silks that floated about her in the wind, walked in and out of them, eyes missing no last minute detail even as she herself was part of the scene the Dark Lord had set. They were the decoration, the entertainment; slaves for this one night to the dark wizards, witches and any beings fortunate enough to have been invited.

The Lady would not come, but they were here, unstated representatives, her favour to the Dark Lord. They were free to any, subservient to any who wished them, for whatever reason.

She passed another of the girls, this one tied to the pillar itself, arms stretched above her, winding around the next pillar, she came to a man strapped to a wheel. This was how it went. Some restrained, some to stay on their beds, some free to wander and dance and serve whoever had the privilege of being invited.

They were all highly trained, of course, and spelled by ritual magic to absolute confidentiality. To attempt to communicate or use any information or knowledge gained on this night would be to suffer immediate death.

She slid past the veil that covered a small area between two the pillars, one of several, designed to give privacy and secrecy to any who wished it, and stared down to the far end of this creation, this marvellous ball room. It was a sheer drop, protected by no pillar, bare of any decoration, human or otherwise, apart from a wide, black slab.

This was where the Dark Lord would sit, and call up, or conjure upwards from the marble, his throne, if he so wished.

For those not mortal, the magical creatures and beings, such surety could not be, but they acknowledged the incredible power of the Dark Lord, and so would not openly disrespect him.

The girl sighed, and let the wind blow her hair back, whipping tendrils across her face, and watched the waves crash in implacable fury, the proud white splashes leaping up ever further, as if to drown the world.

She checked the sun - there was only about half an hour till the guests were to come - and then moved back to her alcove – a podium raised from the floor, upon which she was to remain, unless ordered otherwise. Her eyes fell away from reality and into focus as she pulled her mask on – a dark gold, bestial mask that transformed her into a nameless, disturbingly sensual beast – just one amidst all the other creatures to be here on this night.

And time….passes.

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The guests began arriving just as dusk was settling its rosy glow across the expansive grounds of the Dark Lord's stronghold.

The tall, dark curling gates – purely for show, as the true protection came from the wards – were wide open, and through the wide entryway a magnificent procession of opulence and old world dark wealth paraded.

Elegant carriages with impossible proportions swing past, followed by proud, fantastical creatures, such as nightmares and pegasi, tamed to their jaded masters, or a beautiful gazebo that could have been a palace in itself for those wishing to floo on the highly protected, blood-warded system.

All the power players of this dark world arrived, the lesser arriving earlier, and slowly the more powerful would arrive until the Dark Lord finally would make deign to appear at midnight, the witching hour.

--------------Midnight--------------

The revelry was well underway by midnight, with the sickle moon hanging gloriously in the sky like deadly instrument of night ready to massacre any below should it fall. The intoxicated, splendid figures whirled across the dance floor like beautiful, villainous fairytale kings and queens, sorcerers and seductresses, virgins and lovers.

Men danced with men then danced with women who danced with women mixed with those not human at all. On a night such as this, among people such as this, there was no taboo. Slaves danced among the most powerful of wizards, and one among them, a beautiful girl with a golden, bestial mask, was a spy enchanting in her arts.

As the night came to fullness in the moment of midnight, a sound rang out, like the giant peal of an ancient clock, once, twice, then a third, and the music stilled, the flowing, continual swaying and swirling of the rich cloths and dresses of the dance floor fell from their positions as all movement came to a standstill.

This was what they waited for, when the Dark Lord would arrive, then his entertainment would begin - wherein courtesans, slaves and beautiful performers, be they of free will or captives of the Dark Lord entered in a grand parade.

This was what signalled the change of the ball from elegant revel to a darker, more primal celebration life and power unlimited by useless morals and conscience.

The musicians fell to silence.

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Thunderous.

A deep, drumming, beating of the earth as dark, powerful hooves beat the ground, sleek mares and proud stallions flew through the forests and rolling acres contained within the grounds of the Dark Lord's stronghold.

The dark moon hovered in the startling sky – and the leaves were black and velvet in the night.

The ride was a fearsome sight to behold – dark, richly cloaked figures, unstoppable in their sheer joy of the speed, the women's hair streaming out like banners behind them.

At the head of this unholy company rode the Dark Lord, deep blue eyes fierce as he slung low over the neck of his nightmare stallion, his deep pride flowing through its every movement, through the dark, slow curve of his lips.

Only the favoured rode with the Dark Lord this night, and what a night it had been. Their hunt had taken them far across the countryside, engaging in dark, ritualistic practises of human sacrifice that would terrify the ordinary human.

But no ordinary humans these; they were the most influential, powerful families, of the highest hierarchy within the Death Eaters, and they would enter the Masque behind the Dark Lord.

The romantic, dark overhang of the forest broke, revealing a sky sparkling hard with diamond light, and the magnificently beautiful bridge, spanning to the surreal existence of the ballroom, awash with the colours of enchantment and ornate gowns.

The assembly of the most powerful of the dark witches, wizards, and magical beings invited to this darkest and most enigmatic of all winter balls, pulled to a halt in a magnificent display, amid the muffled gasps and exclamations of delight emanating from the ball at the marvellous sight.

No matter how jaded, the old-blood inhabitants of the magical world never failed to be enamoured by the fantastic.

The Dark Lord did not halt, but slowed his dark horse to a walk, the iron shoes of the horse ringing with every step onto the gossamer bridge. He finally halted at the apex of the bridge, and turned, tall and magnificent to those below, and proclaimed in his slow, seductive voice, reaching before him, out into the sudden silence of the ballroom, and across his riders behind him.

"Ladies and gentlemen … I welcome you to the_ Bacchanalia Masquerade._" His eyes looked over the crowd, looking for those who had caught the ancient subtleties of the name. Few had.

Near the front of the gathered hunt, Lucius' eyes narrowed as Narcissa whispered in his ear.

"_Bacchanalia, _the ancient celebration of Dionysus, notorious not only for their drunken orgies and defiance of morality, but for being the seat of the most dangerous of political conspiracies, where the revolutionary crimes were planned."

Her eyes slid through the crowd to her sister. Masked in a mask of pure white; a creation of sculpted vines and roses that intertwined around her sultry eyes, and a scandalous, stunning crimson dress, Bellatrix looked like a virgin handmaiden of Lucifer himself. In a manner of speaking, she was.

Their eyes met, and instant understanding leapt between them. Tonight the Dark Lord planned to fully initiate his more aggressive, active plans and alliances. Tonight would be a night for watching carefully and acting powerfully.

Watching the two beautiful sisters communicate silently, Lucius felt the jealousy seize him as always, that there was another to whom Narcissa would always be tied, and would never be purely bound to him.

The Dark Lord spread his arms wide in an elegant, encompassing gesture. His voice came low, poundingly insistent, slow and powerful, his fervour impossible to resist.

"Tonight we celebrate _life_, and our freedom from that disturbingly… repressive society that has been forced upon us. Tonight … we celebrate … _revolution_!"

With that, he leaped from the stallion, cloak flaring about him, and strode over the arch, down into his ballroom, instantaneous applaud exploding from the crowd, interspersed by the more considering, courteous claps of those who grasped the full intent of his words.

For a moment, nothing moved, then the mount of the Dark Lord reared, hooves chiming upon the bridge, and soft, feathered wings spread before the stallion leapt into the air, spiralling into the darkness.

As if it had been a signal, in clearly defined groups, in a certain order, the wealthy, masked Death Eaters began to enter in triumvirate formation behind their lord.

Narcissa chanced one more glance back at her sister. Rodolphus was looking down to Bellatrix, and her eyes were staring up at him, the dangerous passion they both shared for this cause shining between them in near-mad zeal. Shivers raced down her spine, and fear for her beloved sister came to prominence in her heart – for such love of such a deadly cause in such dangerous times could just as easily lead to bloody death as shining glory.

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Dungeons

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Tobias was roughly awoken by the painful, deep needle injected straight into his jugular. He immediately froze. To struggle would be to risk snapping the needle while still inside his vein.

His eyes flared as dark, violent frustration flooded him even as he remained utterly still.

_How. Dare. They!_

The needle was removed, dark figures moving quickly and efficiently about him.

Almost immediately, an intense, dreamy feeling flooded him, both heightening everything, the colours, the sounds, his every movement, and giving him a floating sensation, so removed and uninhibited by the physical world he was experiencing so keenly.

And … Something else too, an aphrodisiac, not as intense as he had been administered before, just enough to make him indolently, seductively lustful.

The feeling was mind-blowing.

Unresistingly, he was subjected to numerous healing and cleaning spells, and for the first time in endless days, his body was clean, free from the marks of hours of violent rape.

He was escorted to a strange chamber, where a breathtakingly effeminate man waited… ah Rosier, Tobias thought dreamily through the haze of drugs, his dark angel, his dark, obsessed angel.

"Do you know what night it is, love?" Rosier crooned, sashaying forwards, lips glistening, eyes soft.

Tobias' eyes trailed up and down over Rosier's slender, alluring body with cat-like curiosity. Who did he remind him of?

"It's the night of the Dark Ball, and you have a very important part to play."

Valentin, that was who. Ah… sweet Valentin, the Lady's Wolf, he remembered him … oh, no, the face was wavering … what had he been thinking again? Ah, nevermind, for it never really mattered did it?

"Strip." Rosier's voice was a slash of desperation.

_Why not?_

Tobias smiled slowly, feeling his torn, dirty shirt slide slowly over his skin as he pulled it over his head, and dropped it, watching it settle on the floor like a broken dove.

Entranced by the shapes, he stood still for long moments, before slowly undoing his pants, letting them fall and stepping out of them, then looked up at Rosier, tilting his head back as proudly as a wanton, naked prince.

Rosier came to him like a supplicant, and Tobias knew immediately this was somehow the last time. The slim, graceful man melted into his kiss, golden curls falling across Tobias' cheek. The kiss became more frantic, as the pair melted to the floor, Rosier raining rough, fleeting, passionate kisses down Tobias' body as Tobias, high out of his mind, ran entranced fingers through the long soft curls trailing down his chest.

Rosier pulled away and upwards, gasping, his eyes tortured, and gently, reluctantly pulled Tobias to his feet and led the half-insane, high boy to a seat placed in front of a table, then moved around, elegantly crawling onto the table until he was sitting across from Tobias, slightly elevated.

Delicately, he picked up a small tub of dark kohl, and a slender brush. His eyes full of fascinated adoration, he began to apply the paints to the face he had become so obsessed with.

Flying in a world created by a cocktail of drugs, the sensation was almost more than Tobias could bear.

A soft feathery touch to his mouth then dark paints pulling the skin this way and that, the light scent of his breath, rippling like stardust across his flesh.

The caress of a hand at his throat, throbbing beat of the pulse in time with tantalizing, teasing touches along the rim of velvet-soft green eyes, leaning in pulling away, dusting sparkles of touch along his cheekbones, rough, lightening wrench of his hair in momentary loss of control.

Finally, Rosier arose, sliding down over the table, grasping Tobias' hand as he went, pulling the boy to his feet.

Tobias twirled under the hand, pulling the other man's body to his, craving the warm, throbbing contact, tracing the lines of the incredible face.

Rosier shuddered, eyes despairing, and turned away.

Now came the black, beautiful pants, made of a material that must have been enchanted, so soft, yet fitted it was like wearing nothing at all.

Rosier retrieved a deep dish from the table, filled with a glittering, mesmerizing, golden substance, swirling like liquid dust. Delicately curling his fingers, he dipped a hand into the liquid, and pulled it out, now surrounded by a static cloud of the shimmering gold.

Languorously, he swept the hand across Tobias' torso, in wide arcs till his bare upper half was glistening with deep, shining gold particles.

Then the cloak, a magnificent scarlet cloak that swept the floor, encrusted with golden designs of archaic form, glittering regally – an incredibly work of art that weighed nothing and flowed and swirled as if made of sheer silk.

Rosier settled it across Tobias' shoulders, the solid gold clasp arched down across his collarbones and back up to his other shoulder, decorated in lines of jewels and ancient symbols.

Rosier reluctantly stepped back, away from the incredible aura of heat generated by Tobias' body, and observed his handiwork.

The hair, the soft, curling messy dark hair, he left natural, and finally, one last touch. A dark, upswept mask of black raven's feathers covered his eyes, creating a barrier between those extraordinary eyes and the rest of the world.

It was, after all, a masque.

The Dark Lord had returned, and the presence of Tobias had been requested. Rosier knew that once his Lord had seen the boy, there could be no way Tobias would ever fall under the radar again.

Rosier despaired of ever even _touching_ the boy again.

Tobias turned towards the door, following the guard, a slow smile curving his lips; mind seeing reality as it was, only heightened – a fantasy of reality through the miasma of the drug.

That drug was called Phoenix Tear.

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The Ballroom

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To an outsider of the world of dark politics, it would have seemed extraordinarily insane for the recently released werewolf Alpha to attend the Dark Masque. But to not would be to forfeit serious position in the oncoming war.

The Dark Lord truly had no further use in capturing the Alpha. He had gained an unbreakable alliance, or he would never have allowed the prisoner exchange to take place.

Remus knew the Dark Lord wanted him as an ally – indeed, he had made a great effort to show the respect in which he held the Alpha whilst Remus had been in his dungeons. Remus had known from the first it was simply a show – the Dark Lord respected no earthly being other than himself, but he did realize the importance of at least _showing _respect. At least now, in these early, unstable stages.

Now, as he leaned gracefully against a pillar off to the far side of the ballroom, with his representative contingent – which consisted of his two most trusted lieutenants and the ambassadorial couple, the Valmores – lounging about him on the couches and chairs provided within this particular alcove.

He crossed his arms, head jerking slightly in an animalistic alertness as he caught a startling flash of gold, and relaxing as a lithe woman, indeed, one of the courtesans if he wasn't mistaken, wearing an impressive, golden bestial mask, sauntered up to him, pressing her body against his.

His eyes darkened with the first shadows of lust as he looked down at the eerie mask for this one knew her arts well.

"Alpha." Her voice was soft and had an alluringly husky edge.

"Slave." His voice was dismissive, brutal.

Under the mask, the unnamed courtesan's eyes flashed with pleasure.

"The Lady sends her regards, _wolf_. She asks that if you ever feel the … _urge _… feel free to contact her."

Remus felt a light hand slipping something into his hand – paper – and then the girl whirled away into the crowd, as good as disappeared.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. The Lady? Ah, so perhaps the mythical entity he had heard so many rumours of truly did exist. If so, it was obvious that only those she chose could ever find or contact her. He glanced covertly at the paper. It was a simple muggle telephone number. He slipped it into his pocket, and turned as the heavy beatings of the drums began, indicating the beginning of the entertainments crafted by the Dark Lord's court specifically for his pleasure, and that of his guests.

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Narcissa whirled. Her world was bright and sparkling, full of promise and the colour of obscenely rich costumes.

She laughed delightedly as the drums began, twirling on her toe, falling into the arms of Lucius, her golden hair falling around behind her.

He looked down at her, within the circle of his arms, an involuntary smile creasing his eyes through his mask. She was just slightly drunk – just enough to break through the icy exterior she cultivated so carefully.

His eyes darkened as the forerunners of the parade became visible over the arc of the bridge. A young, beautiful girl, sweating and glistening led, moving so slowly, so sexually, all eyes could not but go straight to her body.

Then more came, he couldn't count how many, but they were a throbbing, obscenely moving thing, all harsh beats and sinuous movement. And absolutely beautiful.

They carried floats, huge contraptions of Indian harems and golden cages, upon which tableaux were staged, completely still; intricate intertwinings of power and submission, a magical culmination of the violent sensuality of that which the Dark Lord considered true magic.

The Dark Arts.

They swirled, irresistible, about the parade, bright hurricanes of light and dark, beautiful runes that hung in the air about them, enticing the dancers ever onward into dark, more bestial movement.

As the first of them hit the huge, cleared floor of the ballroom, music began, and with it, a dance. Where before there had been pure movement, this, this was flawless. These were those trained purely for the pleasure of the dark court – the willing love slaves.

It was … mesmerizing. They moved in ways that few humans could, in a beautiful, chaotic, _suspenseful _movement, hinting at depths unseen and dangers unforseen. They danced to violins.

The Dark Lord sat on his bare throne, handsome head thrown back, his eyes half-lidded, lips curving in an icy smile.

And some part of him was still … waiting.

He had requested that the long-lost Potter boy be included simply because he wanted to show those gathered what reach he had, capturing even the son of those closest to Albus Dumbledore from right under them. But he was vaguely curious, he had never met this boy, who was both creature of the Lady and scion of the Potters. He wondered whom the boy would most reflect.

Then the music changed, cymbals clashed and an eerie music reminiscent of the opulence of Persian dynasties clanged into the ever-changing beat.

The last float was brought into the ballroom.

This was the unpredictable element. Those who had crafted the procession knew that the Dark Lord enjoyed such moments. The boy, they knew also, had been trained by the Lady, and the drug of Phoenix Tear was notorious for inducing an irresistible urge to simply _move_ and dance to music.

But they did not know what he would do.

It was a simple slab, the float, carried above the heads of the last of the procession, upon which Tobias lay, eyes sparkling as he gazed up into the heavens, arms hanging limply off the edge, an euphoric expression glittering across his face.

Even through the haze of drugs, he knew what was happening, at a basic level. This was a _performance. _And he'd be damned if he couldn't perform.

The slab was brought slowly down the bridge, flowing through the procession. It reached the bottom, and Tobias stepped lightly off, supported by two women to either side.

The trained courtesans had fallen still. If the boy did not perform, they would spring into action, beginning their dance once more. If he was … adequate … they would allow him to dance.

A murmur ran through the crowd as Tobias' eyes glided open, releasing the dark tendrils of seductive magic throughout the crowd.

There was a moment of silence, then music began, a dark, throbbing beat, almost a tango.

There was a moment of stillness.

Then …Tobias danced.

No, he _performed_.

Lord Voldemort's eyes widened ever so slightly.

Tobias danced and danced, dark hair flying about his face, muscles rippling and in ecstasy to the high heavens. _Gods_, _but_ _how_ _he had missed this._

The music finished with Tobias panting, alone in the centre of the floor.

In the moment of silence, beyond which the crowd might have applauded ferociously, Voldemort moved. He leapt gracefully from his throne, walking _slowly _through the corridor down the centre of the floor that opened for him, his eyes blazing through the form of Tobias.

And Tobias' head lifted, his eyes dark with the lust and ecstasy of his dance, and through the mask, his eyes met those of The Dark Lord.

No one, _no one_ moved but Voldemort. As he reached Tobias, a cold hand lifted, elegantly tracing the line of Tobias' face. Tall as the Dark Lord was, Tobias looked up at him; chin defiantly tilted, neck exposed as his head arched back.

Lord Voldemort did anything he wanted.

The hand lifted the feathered mask, letting it fly away in the wind, then fell from the boy's face, to the torque that held on the rich crimson cloak. The cloak fell silently to the floor, pooling about Tobias' feet even as a smile curved his face. This man was like any other.

And yet, there was something there, something Tobias could not place through the whirlwind of bright lights his world had become through the drugs. As the Dark Lord lowered his head, his lips violently meeting Tobias', a sunburst exploded in his mind.

_Déjà vu. The Lady kissing him, _kissing _him! Finally! A power of submission and dominance, unforseen. Dark spirals of love and lust, a magic beyond his knowledge rising up about him, a violent tornado of nature, of bestial rage and ecstasy, a power meeting a power, and terrible storms of pure darkness somehow within him rising to meet the oncoming firestorm. The Dark Lord's mind-blowing power over the unnatural forces meeting those of Tobias, and the wall broke, and everything came flooding out._

In the physical world, Tobias' body arched backwards over the arms of the Dark Lord, mouth open in a silent scream of rapture, his eyes almost … glowing with the mortal light of the Killing Curse.

The Dark Lord's face could have been carved from marble. _This was … unforseen. _He had witnessed magical beings being re-merged with their inner magical essence before, and he recognised the signs. He could accept that this was how Dumbledore had been controlling the boy.

_But the sense of this power. It was like nothing he had ever experienced._

Lord Voldemort held the trembling, glittering body in his arms, felt the incredible heat radiating off that impossibly beautiful body, saw the fine arch of the boy's neck, could _smell_ the magic rising off him.

What the Dark Lord did not, _could not _know was that even as the Gods had cursed him with such power as he held, the power Tobias held within him, that curled about his essence like a malignant, yet loving parasite, was, in fact, of the same order. But not something of the Gods, no, of something much more exquisite.

The crowd had broken into absolute, gob-smacked observation. Those who did not immediately recognise the boy had their aides whispering in their ears, explaining, and as knowledge of just _who _this boy was spread, so did the increase of the quiet terror in which so many held the Dark Lord. He held the son of two of his most public enemies in his arms, as if without a care.

The body went completely still for a moment, then those eyes slid closed. He arched slowly upward, till he was standing, so close to the body of the most feared wizard in the world he could feel the cold presence all about him. Then, one more time, his eyes slid open.

And, suddenly, there was Tobias, and only Tobias.

And he smiled, that dark, cruel, _unforgettable_ smile, even as his head moved gracefully from one side to the other, surveying the crowd before turning his gaze upon Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord's eyes had not moved from Tobias' face, his cold gaze unflinching as he looked down on the boy, lids lowered, as if assessing the strange creature still standing within the circle of his arms.

And he returned a similar smile, almost invisible, but equally as dark, equally as deadly.

Then his magic pushed outward, flinging Tobias from him, holding him in stasis, and signalled to the guards stationed about the ballroom.

"Remove him." He intoned, releasing the boy as the guards reached him, and turning away walking back to his throne, indifferent as the most beautiful human being he had ever seen in his life was removed from his presence.

He turned as he reached the dais, an amused, arrogant smirk on his face as he observed the frozen room.

"As you were."

The music started up again, and the dancing began, less refined, more sensual and primal now that the slaves from the parade were mingling with the most powerful leaders of the Dark magical world.

Remus Lupin could not move. His heart pounded within his chest, and lights danced before his eyes.

_That was him. The boy who had been given in place of him. Harry Potter. The boy who abandonment had caused first Sirius, then him to leave the circle of friendship that had once been forever. And now he had drawn the attention of the Dark Lord._

He swore violently.

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Dungeons

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Tobias stood, half-naked, arms folded, millimetres from the sparkling wall of solid pain that guarded the front of his cell.

Sweat dripped from his torso, and dark hair fell forward over his down-turned face, even as his eyes, unblinking, observed the corridor.

Rage danced across his vision, through his skin and across his thoughts. Violent, violent, violent, _torrential _rage. His teeth bared in a snarl, and his body trembled with barely-restrained fury. But he did not move.

It would not be long now, not long at all. Rosier would come, and when he did … There, now, footsteps in the hallway. The ball would be dissolving by now, the carriages beginning to leave the grounds, drunken mayhem happily settling across the guests.

It was also the time when all the Death Eaters so inclined retired to the slave cells.

_Speak of the devil. _There, now, light footsteps Tobias would not mistake, fluttering down the corridor, and then there was Rosier, beautiful and flushed, his eyes limpid with barely restrained tears of sick obsession.

Poor, vulnerable, stupid Rosier. So distressed was he, so blinded was he that the change in Tobias, the pure _power _that rolled off his form went unacknowledged, unregistered.

He flipped through the process that allowed him entry with desperate, fumbling, slender fingers, then flung himself inward. As he did so, a violent wave of magic burst out from Tobias, holding the slim man where he was, halfway through the magical barrier.

Tobias, arm out-held, smirked, then, as if involuntarily, broke into soft, dark laughter, eyes flaring.

"That's a little trick I just learnt from _your_ Master, darling." He crooned, voice a deadly dart, tearing into Rosier's mind.

Tobias' hand thrust forward, slamming into Rosier's pulsating throat, and kept moving forward, dragging his entire body through the barrier, pain nerves screaming as the magic tore into his skin.

Dark blood, almost black, rolled off his body, into his eyes and across his quivering muscles as he slammed Rosier against the far wall.

The slender man shook violently, eyes unbelieving, spilling with desperate tears as he looked upon the boy before him.

Rosier felt bile piling in his throat at the gruesome, horrific sight before him. The blood was everywhere; falling from pores around eyes so insane with fury he did not dare look away.

"Rosier." It crooned, leaning forward, even as black crept around his vision. The last sight he saw before slipping into unconsciousness was the boy he had become obsessed with walking away, drenched in his own blood.

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Tobias moved quickly, sprinting down the corridors, down, down, into the dungeons, eyes moving, never stopping, seeing everything, looking only for one thing.

A sparkle, there in the corner of his eye. _Ah._

He was on a landing halfway in between the level of the love slaves, and that of those prisoners of war who were tortured and experimented upon. There it was, he had noted it subconsciously coming in, had known it existed. A failsafe.

He smashed through the false wall, protected by the glimmer of magic he had seen, and emerged into a room where the master key to all the prisons existed. It was only there if there was a failure of the spells, built so the prison-magic could be re-instated within moments.

Tobias laughed, eyes wild, and strode to the cylindrical pillar of solid magic, arms outward. He had no craft, no formal training, could not possibly hope to unravel the complex spells held within it. What he could do was completely overload the thing.

The pure force of his frustration, the rage boiling out of him thrust the magic into the core. His hair flared out about his face, eyes wild and laughing with the pure power, he saw the core pulsate, tremble for a moment, then, with an unearthly squeal, implode on itself.

Then, suddenly, the room was silent but for the sound of the quick, gasping breaths of Tobias as he waited. Within mere moments, the first screams echoed about the dungeons. The prisoners were no longer restrained. The love slaves were not such an important factor – many would simply remain in their cells – but the lower levels… ah, they were the insane ones, the grotesque experiments and the tortured, the revenge obsessed. And now they were free, for a little while at least.

They would be his distraction.

With a moment's more consideration, his head cocked slightly, Tobias fled, up the stairs, away, and into the stronghold proper.

The chaos caused by the release of the prisoners would not reach the upper levels, let alone the grounds - where all the guests were now in the process of departing - for a while.

Tobias sprinted through the sumptuously decorated, richly carpeted, utterly deserted corridors. He knew the general direction, and swiftly made his way to the floor above the entrance hall, where he slammed to a stop at a window, gazing downward. The stream of carriages and horses emerged from a beautiful stable, about two hundred metres from the entrance hall.

The gates out of the grounds were heavily guarded, as always, but on this night, when all visitors had been thoroughly inspected coming in, the guards were purely in case of an attempt to get _in. _They were allowing carriages and guests to leave unchallenged.

Tobias' eyelids lowered lazily, shuttering the blazing green eyes as his mind, lightening-quick established possibilities, created paths and opportunities.

They slid open, and he smiled.

He was getting the _fuck _out of this place.

He heard crash of disturbing enormity from somewhere within the depths of the castle, indicating that at least some of the prisoners had gotten out of the dungeons already.

Tobias glanced out the window one last time, eyes intense with dark resolution, then ran.

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Stables

--------------------

----------------------

Remus resisted a yawn, golden eyes flickering in the pre-dawn light as the Valmores readied their carriage, specially commissioned for events such as this. The stable was enormous, and filled with the laughter of scores of other departing guests, the creak of leather and the smell of clean, shining, pedigree horses, pegasi and hippogriff.

He smelt the blood a moment before he was grabbed, a pulled roughly into the stable from which the Valmores' horses had just been taken.

Snarling, now fully awake and furious he had allowed himself to crept on like that, and absolutely _livid _he had believed the Dark Lord would allow him to go unscathed, he thrust himself violently out of the grip, flung himself around, nails sharpening and –

Froze.

There, crouched in a deadly professional fighting crouch, a knife glinting in one hand, covered in dark blood, was …

"_Harry_." Remus whispered, eyes wide.

A furious snarl pulled at the Tobias' face before he slowly smirked, and gracefully straightened, flinging his hair off his face.

'Tobias." He murmured, moving forward slinkily, a threat inherent in every syllable, "my name is _Tobias_."

Remus' eyes narrowed as he looked the boy up and down.

"Yes. Yes, you really are." This boy was not Harry Potter, not the boy anyone would expect. He was … something else entirely.

"I want to get out of here." It was not a question, a request, anything other than an order. Even had Remus been inclined to refuse, he could not have. His strength of resolution was eroded by this boy, his curiosity, and long-buried affection completely overriding his more cautious instincts.

Remus nodded, once, and called out.

"Hans!"

Tobias watched warily, eyes narrowed. He did not know who this man was, did not know anything about him other than the fact that he had screamed with rage to see Tobias being swapped for him.

And then he had seen him on his way out of the ballroom. And thoughts had crystallized.

A man appeared at the door of the stable, saw Tobias, and immediately launched himself at the boy, nails sharpening into talons, ripping through the air where Tobias' face had been moments before. The boy rolled to his feet, and lunged at the werewolf lieutenant, dagger outstretched…

"Cease!" The whiplash command cracked from Reus' throat, the order of a general, and a man who did not know the meaning of refusal from his own men.

The edge of the dagger froze, the point buried infinitesimally in the gut of one of Remus' most trusted men, a droplet of blood soaking his shirt. Tobias' head cocked ferally to the side, green eyes glaring into Remus' stony face, body unmoving from the precise lunge position.

In a single, fluid movement, he stood, the dagger dropped in the straw on the ground.

Remus strode forward, and swiped the dagger from the ground, cleaning the edge carefully as he spoke, as if indifferent.

"Hans, this is Tobias, we're getting him out. Find a cloak for him and tell the others to get a move on." His voice was harsh, inflexible. He couldn't, and didn't have to explain himself at the moment. There was no time and the word of the Alpha was as law.

Tobias spoke, just as hard and professionally.

"They're not checking the carriages. The guests are leaving without any obligations."

Remus nodded sharply, carefully looking over the boy once more. "I assumed as much."

A cloak came flying over the stable wall, and was quickly snatched out of the air itself by Tobias, who flung it about himself and darted out of the stable.

Remus ran out just in time to see the black cloth disappearing into the carriage, the Valmores standing by, completely unmoved, perhaps even slightly amused.

"Let's get out of here." Remus ordered curtly, and followed Tobias into the carriage. The Valmores and Hans rode beside the carriage, with Tymons, his other lieutenant driving the carriage.

----------------------

---------------------

---------------------

It had been five minutes since they had left the grounds of the Dark Lord, and neither Tobias nor Remus had said a word.

In the silence, each examined the other, until Tobias suddenly spoke, the movement of his face accentuated by the tribal-like smears of blood.

"Who are you?"

Remus' attention jerked in shock. He had never even considered that Tobias didn't know who he was.

Golden eyes narrowed, he told him.

"My name is Remus Lupin. I am a werewolf and the Alpha of the British pack."

Tobias nodded, as if this was expected.

"I was one of James Potter's best friends." Remus carefully did not use the term 'father', and even so, saw a glimmer of fury settled as Tobias registered the past tense.

He leant back gracefully; arms spread over the back of the seat, tilted his head back and closed those disconcerting eyes.

"So what happened?"

Remus doubted anyone without the heightened senses granted by being a werewolf would have completely missed the boy's intense curiosity.

"You."

The head came up, eyes suddenly snapped open. Remus' breath caught in his throat. Covered in blood, eyes glimmering with deadly intent, the boy was still so beautiful it could knock the thoughts out of any normal person's head if he so desired.

But Remus was an Alpha, and not so easily shaken.

"Yes." A sardonic smile curved the werewolf's mouth. "You. When Lily and James made the decision to put you into an orphanage Sirius left. I followed soon after. That's it."

Tobias' eyes narrowed, his mouth opened to speak, then, consideringly, he closed it again, looking the man in front of him up and down slowly. He seemed to soften … dangerously.

His eyes melted from icy to dark velvet, and his voice purred as he leaned forward.

"Sirius _Black_?" The voice was almost a whisper.

Remus inclined his head carefully, the countryside racing past on each side.

"Yes. Sirius Black."

The response was completely unexpected. Tobias flung himself backward into the leather seat and laughed.

He laughed and laughed, eyes filled with mirth, till finally he settled resting those eyes once again on the confused werewolf.

Voice sardonic, mocking, and edged with something Remus could not place, Tobias said,

"You're telling me that the leader of the most powerful pack of werewolves in the world, and the deadliest, assassin in Britain, who happens to be on the most wanted list of over 10 magical ministries, abandoned _Albus Dumbledore _and his war for a _child not even two years old?_"

Remus' eyes never wavered.

"Yes."

That was the last thing he remembered.

When he next awoke, the carriage was unmoving, both the Valmores and his lieutenants unconscious and the horse of Vincent Valmores gone.

The dark, seductive scent of Tobias still lingered in the morning air.

Remus let him go.

-----------------

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**A/N**

Thanks for reading, and sorry for the long update. Please review, let me know what you like/dislike and any suggestions as to what you would like to see happening. Thanks!


	11. Emancipation: fightflight

_**Malignant Objects.**_

_**Warning**__**: This story contains both slash and het. **_

_**Chapter Title**__**: Emancipation**_

_**Definition:**_

_**act of freeing**_

_**being freed**_

_--_

_--_

_**London City**_

_--_

_--_

Lightening flashed across the sky in jagged stripes, highlighting the outlines of a thousand skyscrapers. Rain fell like it was the end of the world. Fatigue and drug-withdrawal induced delirium crept through his mind _(whispering animal thoughts from the lizard-brain that lurked, instinctual and ancient, under his skin)._

Tobias was standing in the rain-soaked plaza that served as the entrance to a curving white skyscraper, rivulets of blood - both old and new from freshly opened wounds - winding their languid way down his wrists. How long he had stood there, he did not know, gathering strength for this one final exertion.

Finally, he exhaled, crossed his arms tightly across his bruised, battered torso, arched his head back, and black pupils flared wide across his eyes.

And then Tobias was rising, through the sleeting rain, feeling the power of this pure, physical magic pouring through his every pore, thundering through his veins. And in violent anger he cursed the Dark Lord for flinging him away, that dark night, in that unimaginable ballroom, just when he could have learnt, and gained so much … even as he adored the irony that it was the very magic he had observed (_absorbed), _learnt (_uncovered)_, in that moment, that had allowed his escape.

His head pounded, black creeping in on his vision as more blood from his body mingled with the streams of rain falling down his loosening hands. Using this last vestige of energy he had, forcing his magic to take him to the balcony of the highest room _(of sanctuary)_, the immense penthouse that he would have known nothing of had he not risked followed the Lady one late night, what seemed like a lifetime _(stolen)_ ago.

As he flew over the railing, bright poisonous colours flashed exhaustion across his vision, and he lost control, and consciousness, tumbling down like a ragdoll, rolling and crashing through the glass of one of the expansive, ceiling to floor windows, and dizzily thought, head crashing back, that suddenly the silvery rain felt very much like deadly shards of diamond pain _(glass panes)_.

--

--

**Five Minutes Earlier**

--

_He slammed her down, breathing in the intoxicating, beautiful scent of her arching, silky neck, as golden curls tumbled against the white marble floor, her eyes dark with pain and arousal._

The Lady awoke, struggling for breath, silken sheets falling about her naked body as she sat bolt upright, the heavy diamond cuffs around her wrists pulling her back to the present, away from the days of the first war, when she and the Dark Lord had been unstoppable, allied and immortal, wrapped in the delirium of their own power.

That was before he had begun to lose his sanity, to corrupt his true ambition, before he had died, died and been reborn more brilliant and terrible than she had ever known him to be.

Sliding gracefully from the bed; and it was _so_ easy to do so without disturbing the man currently sleeping deeply beside her, she went to the windows to gaze out, out to the dark and storming sky.

She had heard reports, of course, despite the tight security, heard of the events of the Dark Masque, and heard of Tobias' subsequent and spectacular disappearance.

She could not find him, had spent days scouring her sources, all to no avail, and wondering why he had not returned to her. He was important, significant, and she had known that for a long time, even before realizing his true parentage, had known from the first time she saw him, a mere child enchanted with a fantasy, obliviously running in front of her screaming limousine.

_Memories_. She did not normally think so much of the past.

Then, suddenly, a roll of thunder crashed through her thoughts, mixed with the sudden, cataclysmic shattering of a million particles of glass as a dark figure came flying in through the window to her right. Instinct took over instantly as she flung her naked body away, twisting through soaring pieces of glass, hair flying about her face, furious, as she turned, arms spread and proud, intent to kill burning in her eyes.

And stopped.

Tobias.

_Tobias._

He lay, blood spreading from beneath the black coat that fell about him like dark wings, face pale and beautiful, water sliding down it as if he had been drowning.

The man from her bed, a rogue warlord, leader of the most powerful mercenary force in the world, had bounded from the bed at the first sound of crashing glass, and now stood, eyes narrowed and alert, a gun pointed directly between Tobias' closed eyes.

'Cease.' The Lady's voice was soft and commanding, a chime on velvet, and her eyes met those of the warlord and he, slowly, lowered his weapon.

Coolly, expressionlessly, she turned her back, lifting an elegant white silk robe from the floor and sliding into it, taking her time with the movement, distracting the warlord as he watched the smooth lines and grace of her body.

'It would be best if you left now." She turned, eyes meaningful, tilting her head toward Tobias in a generous answer to the question in the warlord's eyes. 'He is an … operative of mine.'

He nodded decisively, and gathered his clothes, dressing rapidly and efficiently, crossing the room to place a telling kiss on her lips. She tilted her head back willingly, folding her body into his, eyes dark and knowing, never closing, and watched him walk out.

She enjoyed that aspect of him, that he understood when nothing could or should be said.

The moment the door closed, she crossed swiftly to the intercom in her study, robe flying about her, gave an order, before returning to Tobias' side, and fell to her knees over him.

--

Tobias swam in and out of consciousness, aware at first of the soft, yielding surface beneath him, then, later, of the dark, creeping sensation as unknown to him, his dark blood spread through the Lady's snow-white sheets.

Then, for a while, nothing, utter blackness.

--

Slowly, Tobias again became aware of sensations, of the murmur of voices, of the soft, clean, warm scent of healing magic; the white shimmer of consciousness blocked by magic sedative, and, ultimately, a beautiful face, dark eyes exquisitely familiar, wide with a concern that he would never have been allowed to see had he been lucid.

--

--

Lilith, Wolf of the Lady, curled lithely in a corner of the Lady's bedroom against a sun-warmed windowpane. She was, ostensibly, reading her book (a heavy, hard-backed print of the rare _Fables of the Golden Age _she had found in the Lady's bookshelf) but was in truth switching her attention from the dawn-sun and Tobias, sleeping in the Lady's now-pristine bed.

Thinking of the devil, Tobias stirred, flinging an arm out across the bed, hands fisting slowly and unconsciously in the sheets.

Lilith uncurled, dropping the heavy book as she did so; utterly careless of the heavy _thud _it made, and moved silently across to the bed. She looked down at Tobias, at the flawless face that only a few hours ago had been a horrific mess, covered with countless shallow, bleeding wounds and pores.

His entire body had suffered the same damage, and the Lady had said, her voice even but eyes furious, _this was the kind of damage that could be caused by tearing oneself out through prison magic when the wards had only been lifted enough for one-way travel. _She hadn't said, but Lilith knew, that prison magic such as this, especially prison magic laid down for the Dark Lord's own dungeons was so powerful that _nothing_ should have been able to survive such trauma, not without a wand, not without focused magic.

She leaned across Tobias, her dark, feathery hair falling down over bare shoulders to swing over her face, and reached out a slender, pale hand, to delicately trace the arching cheekbone, admiring the play of golden morning light across it.

For a moment, there was complete, peaceful silence.

Then Tobias' eyes snapped open, pupils blown, and suddenly Lilith was flipped, _slammed_ down onto her back, the wrist of the hand she had traced his face with caught in a vice-like grip that sent white-hot flashes of pain across her vision as his body pressed heavily down on hers, his face inches away, twisted in an animalistic snarl.

For a single instant, Lilith was sure he was going to kill her. He loomed above her like an avenging demon, eyes glittering with blind rage. And she was terrified, for the first time in _years_, she froze_._

But she knew, she recognized the raw, paranoid reactions of a tortured prisoner.

So instead of fighting, she softened her body from whip-snap tightness, relaxing into his grip, and whispered, as if speaking to a mortally wounded creature.

'Tobias, Tobias. _Tobias.'_

'_Yes._' He growled, grinding her harder down into the bed, and she _felt _it. Felt the vindictive, animal darkness she saw in his face creep out through his fingertips, dark tendrils of violent, sexual force that left her shuddering with sickness and lust.

But she was a Wolf, powerful in her own right, and with a strength of will and mind not normal. She lay still, and sensed it the moment rational intelligence returned to replace that animal-instinct reaction.

He fell away from her, eyes snapping closed, then open in bright clarity, and she rolled smoothly over, standing over him as he stretched, suddenly and incongruously cat-like and indolent, over the gigantic expanse of white sheets and silky pillows, never taking those hypnotic eyes off her.

'Lilith.' He murmured, voice rough and husky, laughter curling around the _l_'s.

She raised her fine, dark eyebrows, placing her hands on slender hips. If she had not witnessed the events of a few moments ago, she would have completely believed Tobias was perfectly fine. He _wanted_ to pretend that attack, that shocking lapse in control had never occurred, was attempting to cover it with charm and flirtation.

She showed him that she was not fooled, but did not press the matter in words. He was … too volatile.

Tobias' eyes flashed, and he rolled over, effortlessly exposing his bare back, and Lilith had to close her eyes for a moment as her vision flashed, overlaying that smooth skin with the torn and bloody expanse it had been the night before, when they had worked frantic hours to heal the blood-poisoning and skin-ravages.

She was trying to forget the expression in his eyes, ignore that primeval rage he had concealed so easily, trying to restrain the instinct that this beautiful boy lying so easily across the bed was infinitely more dangerous than she could have believed possible, even of Tobias.

He was like a stranger, something not quite human, something alien floating behind the death-curse green of his eyes.

'The Lady left orders that you were to be taken to her once you awoke.' Lilith explained after a moment, turning away and bending over a chest and withdrawing a set of perfectly pressed and folded clothes and carelessly tossing them over to the bed.

Tobias smoothly snatched the clothing up and began dressing, and it turned out to be his own, from before he was taken by Dumbledore.

Black, sleek, well-tailored pants, and a casual, no less expensive shirt with a sophisticated dark coat that he slid on easily, flicking the collar up so that it met the dark hair that curled at the base of his head.

As he slid on the boots, he felt something in the pocket, and Lilith's lips curved smugly as he drew out a pack of his favourite cigarettes.

Her body seemed to relax infinitesimally as he returned a grin, and at that he frowned internally.

Lilith had always been highly-strung, so intelligent and attuned to the moods of others, and that had made her cold and reserved unless around those she trusted. Tobias was unused to the subtle but deep wariness she was now exuding around him.

Despite this, as she walked forward, sliding past him, her hand caught his momentarily, as if she had sensed his fresh craving for reassuring and undemanding physical touch. Her fingers curled in his, and she smiled softly, neck curving as she caught his eye over her shoulder, and opened the door, leading him out.

She was, above all else, a master of her wiles.

Lilith stalked rapidly through the penthouse, stiletto-clad feet clicking lightly against the floor. Tobias, walking behind her, coolly admired the aesthetics – of both the penthouse and Lilith. She wore a designer suit that was tailored so sharply against her curves and lean figure, she could have been any rising director of a company that would own a building such as this.

Business-like, she informed him, 'No-one from your side of the operation should have known of this building, and it really is quite impressive that you were able to discover it.'

He could hear the almost-proud smirk of her lips in her voice.

To his unvoiced question, she continued. 'We run the legitimate face of the business from here. The Lady generates a terrible amount of profit, and despite being able to work our … special kind of magic when it comes to tax officers and cleaning the money, the Lady has judged it important that we at least superficially abide by some of the accepted forms of business so as to conduct certain legitimate operations.'

They swiftly exited the penthouse - a masterpiece of design and perfectly circular - via a huge elevator, sleek and silver with an ornate antique mirror hanging off the back wall and buttons that looked like they had been inlaid with rubies. Lilith pressed on one such, after Tobias followed her in, and turned, easily leaning against a wall for the few moments it took for the elevator to arrive.

Lilith gestured easily, one slender arm sweeping out just as the doors slid open silently.

'We're on the roof.' Her face hardened. 'I suggest you tread carefully.'

She watched him leave, silently springing into beautiful motion like a tiger, and only when the doors had closed again did her carefully crafted expression fall away, and she gazed at the place Tobias had been standing, her temptress eyes wide.

_What the fuck had happened to him?_

It was so very, very different from when they had seen him at Hogwarts - and even the thought of that made her furious with a dark rage. It was different from how he had been, even before that. He was, somehow, _more_.

He had become … too powerful, dangerous, terrible, _and beautiful_ that she could not possibly encompass what she sensed in his every easy, carelessly seductive move.

--

--

Tobias walked out onto a helipad.

The Lady caught his eye immediately in the wide expanse. She was standing by an idle helicopter, talking into a mobile, her back to him, with golden curls tumbling down her back, high-heeled legs in a gracefully intimidating stance, _crooning_ into the phone.

'No, Mr Abbot, the offer is not genuine, but take it, and when the foil plays out we'll take the product by coercion, and leave them in a weak position if we can gather enough evidence of the discretion… Exactly, if the ministry can't know, they will have no choice but to become a holding, and we gain the product, as well as the information legitimately in the eyes of any outside observer. Yes … Yes, thankyou _so_ much.'

Her voice purred, dangerous and steely beneath a sultry tone, and she snapped the phone closed, swiftly flipped it open again, dialling another number, and stating rapidly:

'Camille, would you call the Chairman of Watersmith & Co. and inform him that I wish Mr Abbot to be immediately placed under covert investigation, incrimination pending. Let them know that the fraud should occur within eight hours, then inform General Tassinger that his offshore account is effective immediately and the product will be transferred to his deposit box within 24 hours.'

With a delicate snap, the Lady closed the connection, and finally turned to face Tobias, where he stood, in the centre of the enormous platform, hands in pockets, darkly observing her actions.

There was a moment of silence, and the Lady's eyes, intense and lovely, bore through him, and then she strode forward easily, the cream silk scarf around her neck playing in the wind, soaring behind her head.

Then they were face to face; two proud figures on an open expanse high above the ground, in a soaring city of steel and skyscrapers.

When she spoke, her voice was razor-sharp.

'Tobias, you have few options. The first is that you come down with me, come back to us and be one of us, once again.' There was no lingering vestige of concern or emotion, without hesitation, as efficiently as if she was conducting business, ticking off options one by one.

'Secondly, I would give you the resources to go, and live anywhere in the world that you so wish, as I would any of my people who were loyal and long-serving.

'Thirdly, you return to _Dumbledore_,' and her mouth twisted on the name as she spoke it.

'Be _that_ for morality, revenge or ignorant imbecility.

'And lastly …' Her eyes darkened, and she turned, lightly, to face the sweeping horizon off the edge of the roof.

Tobias came up, silent and expressionless, to stand beside her, the wind whipping through his hair.

'Yes.' He stared out at the sky, at the dizzying open drop off the edge of the roof. 'Lastly.'

He understood, and so did she, even though he had doubted that even _she _could, strange as that doubt now seemed. For many who returned from imprisonment, from torture, life itself would only be further torture, and the invitation was, he had to admit, very tempting.

Looking now at the Lady's profile in the periphery of his vision, cold and unmoving, Tobias _knew_ that she understood, but could not tell if it was from having watched and known people who had made those choices … or from being one of them. And he was _intensely _curious about the Lady.

He didn't know how long they stood like that, shoulder to shoulder, at the edge of oblivion, and he couldn't have known that the Lady's expression, so unreadable to him, as she watched the sky was a compound of rage at, and longing for, that same death for which he was being given the choice.

Later, when he considered what had made him think of it, Tobias remembered how he had thought of his connections to this world, of love and lust, and of the woman who stood beside him, and how that had led circuitously, to thoughts of both family and rape. Of the family created in her underworld, of imprisonment, and of Hogwarts and his blood family, of sex, lust, and the darkness found within his shattered self while a prisoner of the Dark Lord.

And in thinking of family, and of imprisonment, and that last escape, he thought of Sirius Black.

He turned to the Lady and smiled. And she looked across, through his eyes to a skeleton of a man that grinned cruelly at her through eons past. She recognized brilliance, and sheer, unyielding insanity, shining cruelty and a burning age and love that she had known before, but never expected to see come from anything human, let alone in this lifetime.

And, as certain as she had ever been of anything, she knew that this image, this … vision was an omen.

'My godfather,' the vision rasped, and her world shimmered, and there was Tobias, smirking and whole.

'I want to find Sirius Black.'

'Ahh.' Her voice changed and lifted, rich with amusement and her eyes sparkled, and Tobias suddenly recalled, as if from a lifetime ago, the Lady's deep and abiding love of causing chaos.

'Let me make some calls, Tobias.' And her lips curved in a wicked smile as she opened the sleek mobile once again.

--

--

--

This is how the next five minutes went, how the most secretive and dangerous people in the underground world made contact.

The warlord the Lady had shared her bed with, who controlled the largest private army in the world, had done some sensitive business, involving secret magic-technology research bases and decapitated scientists, with Sirius Black not too long ago.

Not having any direct involvement with the pureblood mercenary she couldn't contact him directly, needed someone with whom he was already familiar.

She had the warlord's private number, requested that he pass along this very simple, very compelling message.

'_Your godson would like to meet you.'_

So simple, it would sound to anyone like a code, and not literal truth.

In this new age of technology, satellites and magical communication, it took a mere two minutes for the reply to arrive, and it arrived in this form; the elevator _pinged _lightly, a messenger smoothly walked across the roof, silk tie flapping in the wind, and handed the Lady a slip of paper.

She glanced down at it; her lips curved in amusement, and instructed the messenger to retrieve the Wolf who was her best helicopter pilot, Leo. This was a delicate operation, and required discretion.

The messenger placed a hand to the handset in his ear, and within moments, there was a deliberately explosive _crack _and Leonard apparated onto the roof, dreadlocks flying, grin in full swing as he saw Tobias.

The Lady handed him the slip of paper, murmured a few words in his ear, blonde curls slipping to mingle with his dark tresses, then went to Tobias, her eyes dark and glittering, laid her lips upon his forehead, and left without a word.

Leo examined the paper. There was nothing on it apart from a set of co-ordinates, which, unless he was mistaken, indicated a place off the coast of East Africa.

He looked up at Tobias, chin raised, confrontational.

'So, you back then?' His voice was harsh and expectant.

Tobias, jerked from his thoughts, smirked, tilting his hips and lifting his arms up to cup the back of his head.

'Oh _yeah_.' He drawled out the syllables, and stalked past Leo, slinging an arm casually across his shoulders and steering him to the helicopter, lips whispering and breathing hot into his ear.

'Am I _ever._'

--

--

--

Tobias had always enjoyed the company of Leo, that was, whenever the Wolf had any time for him.

It had been rare to see any of the Wolves, occupied as they were with the highest levels of international assassination, politics, sex and espionage – and Tobias had always suspected that each of them ran separate branches of the Lady's operations across the world practically autonomously. The times he had spent with them, however, had been like coming home.

The Wolves, and their Lady, were perhaps the only people Tobias did not view with an arrogance bordering on contempt.

And yet … he had now encountered the Dark Lord, and found his thoughts a whirlwind whenever they turned to that - he was reluctant to classify _him _as a man.

Tobias and Leo talked about a lot of things on that helicopter ride, but only one conversation stayed with Tobias, something that was, ironically, barely a conversation at all.

_Tobias turned from the window, eyes questioning, asking a question that had troubled him for some time._

'_How long have you known the Lady, Leo? I know she fought in the first war, that she is a powerful witch, but it just seems … she seems far too young for what I've heard that she's done, things that happened years and years ago, and everything that she has done, what she is.'_

_Leo had started laughing halfway through, a low, sinister chuckle that held little humour at all._

'_What?' Tobias' eyes narrowed._

_Leo turned his head to look at Tobias full on, head tilted back against the seat, arms resting easily on the controls._

'_Tobias.' Leo raised his eyebrows. 'Have you _ever_ seen the Lady actually use magic?'_

_Tobias lips parted in shock._

'_You mean –' He stopped shaking his head. 'You mean… she's a mundane?' _

_Leo shook his head, face unreadable._

'_Oh, gods no.'_

_And that was all Leo would say._

--

--

**Somewhere off the coast of East Africa**

--

The helicopter was one of the three magic-science hybrid prototypes in the world, and it took mere hours to get to the co-ordinates. While magic provided instantaneous transport, when going to an unforseen and unseen destination that could prove dangerous and unstable, more physical means of transport were always preferred.

This was the reason a lot of wizards preferred broomsticks – the Lady just like to travel in style and comfort, hence the helicopter, which was only one among many of the transport resources she possessed.

The sky was grey, with winds whipping the oceans and the promise of rain on the horizon as the helicopter _thump-thumped_ across the landscape.

Leo had no idea what to expect at the co-ordinates, but it was certainly not an abandoned, and obviously scavenged oilrig that shimmered into visibility as the helicopter made its third pass over the indicated area.

Three men stood on the heli-pad, two had P-90 machine guns trained on the helicopter, and a third was manning what looked like a surface-to-air missile launcher.

Leo grinned across at Tobias, teeth sparkling.

'Guess they don't want us to land then. You'll just have to use the cables.'

Tobias was staring down at the oilrig, eyes narrowed and considering, and said,

'No need.'

Before he unstrapped himself, and determinedly moved to the cargo area behind the seats, slamming down the revolutionary, hybrid control that lifted the magical shielding over the open exit.

He reached up to snatch off his headset, and Leo, reaching back, caught at his arm.

'Hey, Tobi. You sure you want to do this? We can turn around, right here, right now.' Leo's voice was dusky and seductive, speaking of underground clubs and glamorous assignments, luxurious life and all the freedoms Tobias had been used to …_before._

Tobias froze, eyes wide and blank, as if he had never considered the possibility. And it _was_ tempting. He had idolized the Wolves, had wanted to be one of them with ferocious longing, and was, as all the Wolves were already, _half-and-madly-in-love_ with the very idea of the Lady.

Then he a slow, malevolent smile crept over his face, and Leo knew they had lost him.

'Nah.'

_That was before. This is now._

Tobias jumped.

Leo watched as Tobias fell, then in delighted surprise as he levitated himself inches before hitting the deck.

_Picked up some new tricks then, Tobi. _Laughter fell from Leo's throat as the helicopter banked, and peeled away.

--

--

--

Tobias landed, falling gracefully to one knee, coat flaring about him, his messy, dark hair tumbling over his eyes.

The guns trained on him did not waver, though the missile launcher relaxed, pulling out a military issue com-radio.

The bleak, concrete platform was huge, the wind whistling freely across the expanse, and Tobias stayed crouched, wary and ready, eyes watching everything.

--

--

His handset-radio crackled, speaking.

Sirius Black pulled away from the classified papers he had recently acquired with a curse.

_How the fuck had they gotten here this quickly?_

He threw down a pen and picked up a knife, sliding it into his thigh holster.

It was second-nature, and he barely even noticed he was doing it, and only just restrained from sliding on his shoulder gun holster. He paused for a moment, face blank, then swore again, ran a violent hand through his hair, grabbed his leather jacket, and strode out of the room.

He moved swiftly, boots clanging on the metal grilling, passed the mess-hall that the young orphan-girl - whom they'd picked up almost a year ago - had converted into a gigantic bedroom, and heard the huge _boom _of her music from within the closed hatch.

He grinned, wolfishly, feeling excitement unfurling within him, as if that primal, drumming music had unleashed his careful grip on emotion.

_Harry_. Of course he'd read the newspapers, from start to finish of the whole affair, from when they had 'found' him to when just recently they had reported his capture by the Dark Lord.

Sirius had seen the signs from the beginning and cursed _them _and sworn that if Harry re-appeared Sirius would be making an appearance of his own at Hogwarts.

For now, though, it seemed his godson had found _him_.

Then he was stepping out onto the platform, eyes alight with a hard grey-blue glitter, and saw Tobias, as the boy had caught sight of him, slowly arising, coat rippling about him, and Sirius stopped, utterly entranced.

His dazzling, hard-edged face met that wary, defiant, and dangerously seductive one across the open space. For a moment, nothing moved.

Then Sirius let out a fervent holler, grinned madly, and sprinted across the platform.

Tobias still didn't move, wary and caught off-guard, but when the man collided with him, so hard Tobias stumbled and both of them fell to the ground, he was, suddenly and unexpectedly, infected with that same, irrepressible elation, and laughed, throwing his head back, uncaring that this man was a stranger to him, only knowing that _this_ was the kind of family he would have wanted to find him.

The two rolled across the deck, and the crew that was present grinned at the scene that was so reminiscent of a dog ecstatically jumping someone, just as Sirius might in the animagus form that was so familiar to them.

When the two stopped tumbling, Sirius had rolled onto his side, propping his head up on a hand, casual as any king might be when in his own domain, utterly uncaring of the absurdity of lying in the middle of the heli-pad of an abandoned oil-rig like it was a Caribbean beach, and examined Tobias from where he lay on his back, head cushioned on a hand, examining Sirius back with just as much intensity.

Without looking, Sirius flapped a peremptory hand, dismissing the men, who good-naturedly shouldered their guns, and walked off, into the depths of the oilrig.

As they left, one commented in his thick Irish brogue, glancing over his shoulder.

'Marvellous, lads, now there's two of 'em.'

--

**The end of Sirius Black and Godson's first conversation.**

--

'_So what do you call yourself?'_

_Tobias glanced up at this charismatic, infamous man who was his godfather, and laughed, edged in bitterness._

'_What?'_

'_How would you know to ask something like that?'_

'_Hey, kid.' And for some reason, when Sirius said it, Tobias didn't mind being called that at all._

'_Why the hell would your name still be Harry, let alone Potter? You disappeared way too young to remember that name. I may be pretty, but I ain't dumb.'_

_Tobias lay still for a moment, considering. And Sirius, whose metaphorical hackles had been risen ever since he'd caught sight of the boy, wondered how he could ever get such a one to trust him, or even like him._

'_Tobias. My name is Tobias.' _

_And hell, what a different introduction this was when compared to that Tobias'd had with his real parents._

'_Like Tobias and the angel. 'God is good.'' Sirius' voice was rough and smug with knowledge._

_Tobias grinned, dark and laughing._

'_Ironic, isn't it? I think it might have been what the nuns called me at the orphanage. I don't know, I … can't remember.'_

_Sirius, clearly bored, or perhaps not wanting the conversation to go down that particular path, rolled over and leapt to his feet, reaching down an arm, which Tobias grabbed after a moment, and pulled him to his feet._

'_Well, no rest for the wicked, kid.' Sirius was already striding away, across the deck, a wild spring in his step. He shouted the words back over his shoulder, through the wind._

'_We gotta tub to commandeer. Wanna come?' _

'_Really?' Tobias hadn't moved, and he called out the mocking question from where he stood, the words singing through the space between them. And the question was so much more than just what he asked. _

_Sirius halted, and turned, spreading his arms out wide and akimbo._

'_What the hell do you _think_ we're doing on this godforsaken ocean?'_

_His grin was dazzling, conspiratorial._

'_In that case, hell yes.'_

_--_

_**Later that night.**_

--

The submarine was a top-secret government project, lurking at the bottom of the ocean, unknown and undetected, carrying nuclear missiles capable of launching a strike against any city in the world.

It was night, and through the silky-black waters, a squadron of divers slid, down, deeper and deeper into the depths, towards this killing machine that none but the uppermost echelons of a muggle world-power should have known of.

They reached the submarine, and with deadly efficiency, a pressure-bubble was spelled around a hatch, the security locks bypassed, and with an ominous _clang, _the submarine was breached.

Inside, Sirius pulled off his diving gear, black hair dripping wet, eyes cold and hard as he surveyed his men critically. Tobias had dropped inside last, and as he stood, divested of diving gear, he was handed a gun loaded with tranquilizer bullets that would have no chance of breaching the hull.

Though they intended on using spells, it never hurt to have back-ups.

Sirius jerked his head, signalled his people with two harsh gestures, and they split up, flooding down three alternate routes, moving fast and far too quietly for any without magical aid.

Sirius and Tobias moved rapidly, on an independent mission, heading for the missile silos, intent on making sure the crew couldn't arm the nuclear warheads during the attack, be it purposefully or due to panic. Tobias wasn't trained for military operations, for stealth or action, but he was a natural and had good instincts, but nonetheless, this was why Sirius was staying with him, why he wasn't in the frontal assault.

They encountered only one pocket of crewmen, running down a corridor, boots clanging, and breathing heavily, just as the power was cut, and dark red emergency lighting flickered to life.

Tobias never stopped moving, leaping off the curved, steel walls and flinging himself at the leading man, bowled him over and rolled smoothly to his feet, slamming his foot against the fallen man's throat, crushing his windpipe instantaneously.

Sirius cursed violently, and flung himself out of cover as, raging forward, weaving a fire curse that leapt from his wand in slender, sharp swords of white-hot power, brutally cutting down the two men that had moved to flank Tobias.

Tobias, eyes flaring in the aftermath of the painfully bright curse, jerked his head up, hair flying about his face as he stared at the men that fell around him, then at Sirius.

'Learn to _think_.' Sirius snarled, striding forward furiously, and grabbed the back of Tobias' shirt as he passed him, spurring him into movement.

'This is _military_, we're fighting _military_, you don't just attack! It leaves the rest of the men, and yourself vulnerable, it wastes resources and it is _inefficient_.' Sirius never stopped moving, barrelling down the corridor, the words staccato-quick, as he rapidly checked every opening.

Tobias bit back a snarl of his own, glancing back at the blood-spattered bodies already at such a distance behind that they were barely more than a dark blur in the emergency lighting. He followed Sirius though, mimicking his body language, moving through the tunnel-like corridors in the same manner as the mercenary.

He hadn't been trained for action, no, not assassination or offensives. He had, of course, been taught how to defend himself, and his aggression, inner rage and natural ability had made him a common and powerful presence at the underground fighting rings.

But he wasn't a professional fighter, and had only his instincts, which worked for him when he was working solo, not when with others, or on a mission, and he understood that, and so, he followed, he assimilated, and he learnt.

Within half an hour, the submarine had been secured, and Sirius strode onto the bridge, where there were already three of his crew waiting, in triad formation, exhilarated and smirking, hands proudly on hips.

'Boss.' The Irish one said, gesturing extravagantly, and grinning, 'The sub is yours.'

Sirius grinned back. His dog-grin, dark and wily.

'Why thankyou, Sammy-boy.'

Tobias, watching, silently leant against the hatch that opened onto the bridge and folded his arms, face half-hidden in shadow, a smear of blood across one cheek.

Slowly, watching the professional movement of the crew as they hacked through the systems, leaving the submarine open to their complete, autonomous control, a self-satisfied smirk settled around his lips, eventually breaking out into a low, rich chuckle.

Sirius glanced up, eyes narrowed, from where he was bent over a console with Sam, arms braced heavily over a screen.

'What?'

'We just stole a _nuclear_ _submarine_.' Tobias' voice was pure mischief.

Sirius scoffed.

'Yeah, well, what can I say? I didn't trust the presidential bastard who held the command codes.'

_Of course, that wasn't the real reason_. His voice whispered beneath the words.

Sirius swiftly punched a number into the board, then stood, turning to face Tobias fully, crossing his arms.

'So, I ask again, what?'

Tobias shook his head lightly.

'I was just thinking … I must have made the right choice.'

Sirius didn't move for a moment, no humour at all in his face, then nodded sharply, eyes intent, and turned back to the console.

A moment later, a small smile crossed his face, bathed in the computer glow, and disappeared just as quickly.

Tobias bled back into the shadows.

--

**City of London**

--

Nearly 24 hours after Tobias had left in the helicopter, the Lady was standing in her penthouse, a report that had just arrived from France fluttering to the ground at her feet.

Each European country that had a prominent magical ministry had suffered attacks from the Dark Lord. The strangest thing, that no-one could figure out, even as panicked reports _poured _in, was why the attacks were not on magical ministries or villages, not on anything to do with the magical communities.

The attacks were all on muggle cities, and were, unmistakeably, preternatural. Non-explainable by normal muggle standards.

_Is he mad? _People were questioning, for very different reasons than they normally did. Surely the Dark Lord needed to conquer the magical ministries before even considering the muggle world, expansive and uncontainable as it was.

The ministries were, just barely, managing to keep the situation under control, keeping in check the tidal wave that would break if muggles ever truly accepted the existence of anything supernatural, let alone the truth of the magical communities.

The Lady smiled, softly, taking an elegant sip from her wineglass.

They, the masses, the average populace, failed to understand, always had. This was about _revolution._ A revolution of world order, not simply of magical world order.

She reached her windows, and knelt smoothly as a book caught her eye, the one Lilith had dropped so carelessly. _Fables of the Golden Age – Comments on Prehistory Earth. _It was open on a random page.

_And lo the Fae creatures of primal force had locked themselves far away from our mortal earth. Yet in the times to come, human mothers would weep, and the grief would turn to rage, for what black emotion it did stir when the most beloved and beautiful of progeny was stolen away by such terrible and tremendous beings. The Fae continued to steal their chosen children away to the promised lands, to the despair of mortals, and it was so foretold and done, until one such would be denied to them, one such with the power to shatter and tear open their gates, and flood the world with the horror of predators and supreme beings far above our lowly human status._

'Stolen children.' The Lady murmured, and smiled, for did she not do the same? Take for her world the most beautiful and gifted?

_Tobias. _That vision she had seen overlayed upon his face, that grinning skull. It had meant destruction. And in destruction, creation. She had never expected to experience what it indicated ever gain. The world spun, evermore, rotating on the axis of certain cornerstones, and she knew, knew now, something was coming in this rotation.

She gazed out, out through the windows, once again clear and whole, at that world.

And in that instant, the earth trembled, a horrific groaning thundered through the sky, and a skyscraper, a tall, magnificent creation of steel and glass _tore_ _itself_ off the ground with an iron scream that seemed to last an eternity, and … _levitated. _

The Lady's eyes went wide, and she rose to her feet, so deliberately it seemed the world had slowed just for her.

Then she turned and fled, ran for the elevator in bare feet, slamming down the button for the roof, and as she emerged, spinning around in the wind, hair whipping across her face, obscuring her vision, starbursts exploded around her.

Beautiful, terrible colours, _crimsonbloodredvolcano _went one building, in a plume of dark fire, and _blackpoisondeathpurple _streaks melted down another, sluggish and oozing. _Greenvileopium _smoke exploded as a towering business shattered outwards. And it kept coming, more and more, at least ten, huge, major buildings exploding and imploding, one after another, spiralling a circumference, until finally, that first floating, spinning skyscraper crashed to the earth, and above it all, the burning city of London, the Dark Mark spiralled up and out like a rosebud.

The majority of the city was still intact, but the circle, the flower bloom of destruction was potent and unmistakeable.

And the Lady, eyes so wide the whites could be seen all around, a tiny figure in the exact centre of the desolation, standing on an untouched rooftop, laughed and laughed and laughed.

Then she raised her wineglass, and toasted to the Dark Lord.

--

And Lord Voldemort, exhausted and shattered, the dark ritual magicks still pulling at his blood, pounding at his soul, smiled, eyes reptilian red in that handsome face.

--

--

_fin._

**A/N**

Hope you enjoyed, and please, do review!

Even just a word or two, though the detailed are adored and loved.

And I promise, next chapter? Lots of criminal activity.

Charlie Blue.


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